The Daily Buzz
by Botosphere
Summary: In ROTF, Sam and Leo disappeared for parts unknown. Back home, their roommates made a startling discovery-the alien robots like to blog! The continuing story of four boys, a blog and a year in college.
1. Stranger Than Fiction

It was late, or early, depending on how you thought about it. Fassbinder was trying learning by osmosis with his Norton anthology and I was about to sign off—I had to be up early for my eleven o'clock—when I got mail.

"Sah-weeeeeeeeeeet," I crowed.

"Nghh?"

I ignored Binder. He was never much good until he'd been awake for a few and had a Red Bull. My last email of the night was from this hot Asian girl in Texas. She'd traded me a year of hosting for some of her mad skills, but I hadn't talked to her in weeks. Best not to mess with an artist at work.

"Binder," I hissed.

He groaned and rolled his head to the other side so he was now drooling on Coleridge.

"_Binder_," I repeated.

He wasn't responding, so I decided to sneak a peek. What I found in the e-mail DEFINITELY warranted sharing. I picked up the nearest of his X-files novels and smacked him heartily upside the head with it.

**'Binder_!_"**

"OW!" he protested in a bewildered tone. "Whadja do that for?"

"Shut up. We've got first contact from Kluged."

"Sweet," he said, instantly alert if not awake. "What she say?"

"She thinks she's cracked it. Get me a Bull and we'll try it out."

"It," of course, was the code we'd been working on for a coupla months. Ever since the first Youtube videos started popping up with giant robots getting Godzilla on Mission City's butt, we'd been looking for evidence that it wasn't just some teenage wannabe who knew his way around stop-motion animation.

There was a ton of stuff. Theories about secret government projects, alien contacts that predated Roswell and even a website for fangirls who thought the badass one was hot. But there were no government fingerprints all over it. Usually, there was _some_ kind of data trail that sounded like a CIA front.

We never expected to find a government filter on a blog. Friends-only we'd run into. Password-protected we hacked with ease. When you had to have a 32-character cryp key to read about someone's trip to Arkansas, that was _different._

That was where Lian came in. She was the best cryppie I'd known and she was all about reciprocity. I scratch your Linux, you scratch mine, that sort of thing.

"What's she say?"

"'Hey, Sharsk and Binder,'" I read. "'What a lot of cruftsmanship. This thing was so kluged up by amateurs I'm half-tempted to send them a resume. They probably think Javascript is something invented by Starbucks. But here you go. You might be disappointed. You owe me. Lian.'"

"Disappointed or not, if this works, I'm naming my firstborn after her," Fassbinder announced.

He popped the top of a Red Bull and handed it over. I chugged it—I needed liquid strength this late at night—and then opened the email.

"Okay, got the site cranked up," Fassbinder announced. "Username and password?"

It was case-sensitive and was probably made up after someone fell asleep on top of their keyboard, but it just might work.

"Got it?"

"Got it."

I spun my desk chair around and squinted at his laptop as if that was going to make it go quicker.

"Anything?"

"Still loading," Binder muttered. "Either the government's got the server from hell or it's really graphics-heavy…"

"Or maybe they're tracking us," I said; Leo wasn't here, so I had to play devil's advocate.

Binder nodded distractedly and waved his hand at the screen like he was mind-tricking someone. "Cruncha cruncha cruncha…and we're in. Whoa…"

_This_? The US government had a 32-character cryp for…_this_?

"The Daily Buzz?" Binder said, staring in consternation at the screen. "Que lame-o."

"You're telling me," I commented. "Graphics-heavy is right. It's, like, nothing but pictures of Podunk, USA and cars. What's so frigging classified about _that_?"

"'Empty Nest,'" he read. "Post by Camaro76. 'All alone without the guys this weekend. the boy's got his own thing going, but roadtrip this weekend! When do I get to have some fun? I've been cooped up for months, laying low…' What is this guy, the Unabomber?"

"Listening to, Beach Boys, 'Little Deuce Coupe.'" I rolled my eyes. "Mama's boy Unabomber."

"Or old fart," Fassbinder suggested. "Let's see who his friends are. Maybe he's, like, the President's boyfriend."

"I hope Obama's got better taste than that," I commented. "This guy sounds like a total douchebag."

"BeeFF… Ooh, she's _nice._ Post four days ago. 'Hey, Camaro, are you serious? Diana Ross? I'm bringing over some Linkin Park tonight, whether you like it or not.' NurseRatched talks about nothing but his health problems. NotTheToothFairy…" Binder snorted. "The guy is such a poser. Thinks he's all badass. Probably sitting in an armchair and watching the Dukes of Hazzard somewhere in Georgia."

I had the site pulled up on my own computer and was scrolling through a conversation in responses between Optimust and Camaro76. Optimust sounded like the real old fart there—he talked like some documentary voiceover.

"Anything suspicious yet?" Binder called.

"No," I groaned. "What a waste of space."

"Leo will flip," Fassbinder muttered. "We've been chasing this white rabbit all this time and all we've got to show for it is BeeFF's profile pic and some photoshopped pic of a semi truck on top of the Colliseum."

"Well, you win some, you lose some," I commiserated. "Wonder if the government knows how dumb this is."

Fassbinder shrugged. "Probably not." He glanced at the clock; it was four-thirty. "IHOP?"

It was where we went whenever Leo skipped town. He hated the place, but they had free wi-fi and it wasn't like I was going to bed before class anyway. I had to find something else to crack to make up for The Daily Buzz.

"Definitely."


	2. Heavy Spark

Author's Note: This chapter has a **_TIE IN_** fic,_Introduction: Witwickys_, that can be read before or after the chapter. Enjoy!

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Fassbinder was halfway through a box of Dunkin Donuts when I got back from English Composition. "Worst way ever to waste an hour," I grumbled, tossing my backpack on my bed and snagging a raspberry-jelly one.

"Hey Sharsky," he said, as if I hadn't spoken. "Remember that blog Lian cracked for us?"

"Yeah," I answered around my bite of donut. "It was nothing. Total dead end."

"Yeah? Then why do you think the government would go to such lengths to protect the blog of a gay pedophile?"

"Angh?"

Binder turned the screen so I could read the archived post he'd found.

**

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HEAVY-SPARK

So you all know I met the boy's parents last month. I don't know what I was expecting, really. I mean, when other people see me for what I really am, they usually run away screaming. At least the Mr. & Mrs. didn't do that. I should be happy, I suppose.

But…

I guess I'd had higher hopes for those two. Yes, we are worlds apart. Yes, I am not at all what they thought I was. Yes, I'm imposing on them by being here. But why can't they see beyond that? Why do so few ever see the spark and not just the exterior? With what the boy and I share, I expected them to be a little more understanding and accepting. For the sake of their son, if nothing else. And the boy is _their_ child; I thought I'd find some of his courage and wit and compassion in them. I was sorely disappointed.

I took your advice, Optimust, and tried to just lay low and give them some time to adjust to the idea of having me around. It doesn't seem to be working. They won't ever come closer than arm's reach, even when we're under the same roof. If I'm outside, they stay in the house and don't come out until I leave. They're scared of me and it just…hurts. I wish I could talk to them more and really tell them what happened, but I know I can't. Even if they believed me, NurseRatched is right that it would just make them more afraid of me.

The boy has been great, though. He really stands up for me, telling them that he trusts me with his life and that this is his choice, but they just don't listen. He's practically a man and they treat him like…like an infant. I'm where I want to be, but staying with the boy is going to be a lot harder than I thought at first.

I just had to get that off my spark; thanks for letting me complain. It won't happen again.

**Comments:**

BeeFF: ::hugs:: Hang in there, Camaro. It's only been a month. They'll come around. The Mrs. really likes me, and I'll make a point of spending more time with you, too.

NotTheToothFairy: If you'd like, I could show 'em what scary _really_ looks like.

Camaro76: Thanks, but no thanks.

BikerChick: Have you tried…erm…showing them a different side of yourself? You know, had a face-to-face with them? Maybe they would relate to you better in that form?

NurseRatched: These two were very frightened when they met us. Much more so than the children ever were, and their son – someone they knew and trusted – was the one who introduced us. I think the more outlandish Camaro is, the less likely they will be to accept him. Trust Optimust and keep a low profile.

Camaro76: Jazz was always the best at blending in. I'm really missing him, too.

Optimust: Jazz and I had been friends for so long that it feels like forever. I have lost many friends in this war, but I think he is one of those I shall miss the most. You are fortunate, Camaro, that you have found a true friend in the boy. Cherish him and follow your fate. He'll help you blend in far better than Jazz ever could.

BeeFF: And you know we're here for you, Camaro. All of us. You've got my number and you can text me anytime.

Camaro76: Thanks.

* * *

I read through the blog and comments three times before I looked over at Binder again. Yeah, something creepy was going on between the blogger and the kid. If '76 was his birth year, that guy was, what, thirty-one at the time of this post? And going after some kid? And then there was all this talk about Jazz dying in the war. Maybe it was some gay four-star general or something, but then why blog about it? And what thirty-one-year-old was a four-star general? And why would the parents tolerate him living with them when they were so obviously weirded out, too? Something just wasn't adding up.

"Well?" Binder asked.

"I think you're right. There's a lot more going on here than meets the eye."

"Dig for the effing truth?"

I grinned. "Oh yeah!"


	3. Celebration

Author's Note: Just for clarity, the blog posts that Sharsky and Fassbinder are reading right now are back-posts spanning the two years between the two movies. We'll make sure it's good and clear when the Sharsky/Binder storyline finally synchs up with the blog.

Also, many thanks to SkiHighFan and Cliffjumpersfangirl for the reviews! :) Now, on with the fic...

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Leo was MIA. He was also _ticked_. Not only did Sam have a ride, but he'd driven off with _Alice_. I mean, sure, she was queen of the Freshman 55, but seriously, was that any reason for the boss to be a slacker? We were scooped by Robowarrior about an explosion at our own school!

Annoyed (mostly because I knew _he _would be), I turned to the back-posts on _The Daily Buzz_ for some escapist reading. After ten minutes of sifting through travel logs, I hit gold.

**

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**CELEBRATION**

_Holiday: A day free from work that one may spend at leisure; a day on which custom or the law dictates a halting of general business activity to commemorate or celebrate a particular person or event; a religious feast day or holy day._

My friends completely blind-sided me today. I was out in the school parking lot, minding my own business, when BeeFF shows up with a sheet of clinging vinyl semi-geometric shapes and starts sticking them all over my windshield. What was up with that? I mean, why would she skip class and run the risk of detention to engage in vandalism against a friend - especially when she knows perfectly well that I'm _right there_ watching her? The girl didn't offer an explanation for her insane behaviour, and of course I couldn't ask her, which would have saved me a lot of bewilderment. So there I sat, looking like an idiot while the entire school walked past. The boy was late getting out of class, so _everyone_ had a chance to see her handiwork. When he finally got there, was the boy upset about her prank? Annoyed? _Surprised, _even? No. He took one look at my hideously redecorated windshield and laughed! And then he kissed BeeFF. Kissed her like he couldn't be happier. He was so pleased, in fact, we went to buy her a gift and deliver it to her after dinner.

Has anyone else heard of Valentine's Day?!

Apparently, it's the _lover's _holiday. Once I knew what I was looking for, I found all kinds of information. (Isn't that the way of the Internet? Terabytes upon terabytes of information - and that's just the unprotected stuff - but you can't access _any _of what you need unless you already know where it is or know the right word for the concept you're looking for. And spell it correctly.) The holiday's colors are red and pink, and its symbol is a highly-stylized heart (because we all know that the real human heart looks _nothing _like that). Those vinyl cling shapes BeeFF stuck all over me were that kind of heart. (Thankfully!) Celebrating mostly consists of exchanging sexually suggestive gifts like flowers (the reproductive organs of various shrubs and other vegetation) and chocolate and wine (both aphrodisiacs - be very careful when you research _that _word, and whatever you do, don't give them an email address). As for the heart, I have no idea how a glorified fuel pump is sexually suggestive, and frankly, I don't think I _want _to know the answer. _Especially _after googling aphrodisiacs.

Oh, and did I mention that this holiday originated as a _religious_ one by an organization that holds sexual abstinence to be a virtue?

But it gets better. As part of their personal Valentine's Day observance, the Mr. and Mrs. are going to leave the boy unattended overnight. Personally, it seems like an odd way to celebrate, but I'm not complaining! The boy has made repeated promises to be good and observe all curfews and family rules while his parents are away, but they haven't asked _me_ to make any such promises. This is going to be _fun_!

But today got me wondering what else people outside of our family celebrate, so I did a little research on holidays. These people celebrate _everything_ – major battles, significant leaders, equinoxes and solstices, freedom, religion, birth, death, family relationships, sexual milestones, and even celebrations of celebrations (like wedding anniversaries). And they celebrate in every imaginable way - Valentine's Day is actually fairly simple and low-key compared to some other holidays. Do a little research on Christmas when you get a chance. There are religious holidays, secular holidays, government-sponsored holidays, and even personal holidays like birthdays and marriages. Some are widely-celebrated, while others are limited to a very specific subgroup. Some holidays are celebrated by the absence of food, while others are marked by gluttony or a specific type of food or drink. Many require special clothing and decorations or are marked by specific color combinations. And these people are _always_ celebrating. Literally, you could celebrate a holiday every day of the year. It's pretty overwhelming.

I began doing this research in idle curiosity, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that celebration is a significant part of what it is to be human. It doesn't seem to be about taking a break as much as it is about identity. A Christian African-American will celebrate very different things from a Tibetan Buddhist.

So what do you think? Should we participate in any of these celebrations? And which ones?

**Comments:**

Optimust: Independence Day. Definitely. Freedom is right of all sentient beings and is worth celebrating. And Armed Forces Day.

NotTheToothFairy: Celebrate by blowing things up? I'm there.

BeeFF: There's New Years for that, too, NtTF. Chinese New Years _and_ Western New Years, actually.

NurseRatched: Multiple New Year's celebrations?

Camaro76: It goes back to the identity thing.

Optimust: What else would our friends celebrate, BeeFF?

BeeFF: The major holidays for the US that you'll want to be aware of are the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and Memorial Day. And Valentine's Day, of course. ;) Like Camaro said, though, there are a ton of holidays, and your friends and co-workers might celebrate other ones, too.

NotTheToothFairy: Does this mean we all have the same birthday?

Camaro76: Well, except for me of course. And by that reckoning, I'm your older brother!

NotTheToothFairy: *snort*

NurseRatched: If we're going to celebrate _with_ them, then it appears we'll need to be creative in adapting.

BeeFF: lol I _so_wish I was there to see it! Optimust with a wreath on his grill!

Camaro76: That's what this blog is for. ;)

NotTheToothFairy: I logged in to shoot a comeback at you, Optimust, and most of the comments have disappeared. What happened?

Camaro76: This is why BeeFF insisted on keeping mod rights. She humbly suggests that you do a little research using the following key words: _propriety, faux pas, discretion, family-friendly, circumspect, inappropriate_, and above all, _explicit. _Please also study the Motion Picture Association of America rating guidelines and note that we don't go stronger than a PG-13 around here. (BeeFF says our family's unique swear words don't count in the rating formula.) Another phrase (and it's acronym) you'll want to familiarize yourself with is Too Much Information (TMI). It seems that our family has more liberal views about certain things than our friends do.

BeeFF: Humbly, nothing. In case Camaro was a little too circumspect, let me make this clear. What happens between me and the boy stays between me and the boy. THOU SHALT NOT offer public commentary, speculation, suggestions, or encouragement on _anything_related to me and the boy reproducing. And this means YOU, NurseRatched! That's the first commandment. The second is related to it. THOU SHALT NOT make reference, directly or indirectly (google _innuendo, _boys), to your weird reproductive practices. Any violations of these commandments, and I, the mod-goddess of the Botosphere, shall STRIKE YOU DOWN! (Or at least, strike your comments.) And just to show you I mean business, this thread is now CLOSED!

* * *

I started choking on my Red Bull, and Fassbinder stepped closer to read over my shoulder. When I could finally breathe again, I said, "So, still keeping to your gay pedophile theory? Because this just turned into a Kate Winslet drama. A ring of gutter-minded gay dudes who are best friends with their boy-toy's girlfriend? I mean, not even soap operas would pick up this plot line."

Binder just shook his head. "There's _gotta_ be more to this. There just _has to be._ I mean, where was this family from that they've never heard of Valentine's Day?"

"Or Christmas?" I mean, hello, red and green _everything _for two solid months of the year?

"And _why_ would they all have the same birthday?"

"And why is this creep just sitting unnoticed in a school parking lot all day? I mean, what's wrong with America?! There should be surveillance cameras and guards and everything."

"So we can hack into them," Binder righteously added.

"Exactly!" I hated being out of the loop - that's part of why I'd been on board from day one with Leo and his website. I knew things that virtually no one else did, and I was usually one of the first to know. Looking up at Fassbinder, I felt determination swell somewhere in my overly-caffeinated soul. "We're going to get to the bottom of this. Get digging. If Leo's going to play hooky, we're going to scoop _him_ for a change."


	4. Squirrel Slaughter

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Cliffjumpersfangirl, Marinelife37, and Kittisbat for the reviews and encouragement!

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In Leo's absense, _The Daily Buzz_ had become almost an obsession for me and Fassbinder. The travel logs were mind-numbing, but every now and again, I'd find a gem. Like this one – again with the creepiness. Gay pedophile four-star general with PTSD stays on the property but not in the house with the family of his boy-toy. Where was he? A guest house? Garage? RV? Broken-down car? Tent? Living in a tree? Seriously! And I thought _I _had issues....

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**SQUIRREL-SLAUGHTER**

You know how sometimes, when you're in the middle of a battle, you just go kind of numb and you don't notice your own pain or even when someone else is dying right next to you? And friends you grew up with could die and you would be oblivious because all you can think about is the enemy in front of you who's trying to blow your head off or crush your throat? I think I experienced the exact inverse of that today. Or maybe I really am turning all squishy like BeeFF and the boy say.

We were driving out to the lake, and this small, brown, furry animal dashed right out in front of me. I tried to dodge it, but the stupid thing ran right into me. I _felt_ its little bones crush under my wheels. Even in that last big fight, I hadn't actually damaged anything _organic_. I stopped and we looked back, and the poor thing was squealing in pain and thrashing about in its death throes. I've been in some pretty brutal battles, but I've never hurt anything so helpless. When it died, I bawled so hard I made a puddle in the middle of the road.

Am I going crazy?

BeeFF and the boy tried to console me: It was an accident. I'd done everything I could to avoid hitting it. It wasn't like the animal was sentient; it was stupid enough to run _into_ a car's tires. It was just a squirrel. They only live for at most a few years anyway. They're pests in the city.

But it had squealed in pain. It was warm and alive and I killed it.

I don't know why it got to me so much, because the boy and BeeFF were right about everything they said. But...

In that last big fight, I know that Optimust didn't have a choice about who got killed, and it wasn't just squirrels, either, and he's not whining about it to everyone. But he's who he is for a reason. I just...

_Am_ I going crazy?

**Comments:**

NurseRatched: No, you're not going crazy. It sounds like you and I need to spend a little time talking one-on-one, though.

Optimust: Just because I don't blog about it doesn't mean I don't grieve, too, Camaro. You have endured much and endured it well. So well that we grew complacent. I fear it was unwise to send you off on your own again so soon.

Camaro76: No! I'm where I should to be. And I know you grieve, too, but not panicking and not in public. I'm more than half-tempted to delete this post.

NurseRatched: Wouldn't that defeat part of the purpose of this blog?

Camaro76: Yeah, well, it's embarrassing now that I've had a few hours to think about it. It was just, to borrow the Mrs.' expression, a weird night. I was surprised at how upset I got over it, especially since it's been months now since the last big fight and much longer since the battle BikerChick and I were in together. You don't see _her _having a meltdown, and she's a femme!

BikerChick: What's that got to do with anything? We grieve in our own way and time. It just took a squirrel to set you off.

NotTheToothFairy: So that's what our friends mean when they say 'going squirrely.'

Camaro76: (to BC) Maybe. It's just...I'm the only one here for the boy, and if my head cracks...

NotTheToothFairy: It won't. You're made of sterner stuff, as they say.

BeeFF: For what it's worth, I cried, too. You've got a good, kind, brave heart, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Optimust: The child is wise for her years, Camaro. Listen to her.

BeeFF: ::feisty:: Who are you calling a child?

Optimust: *chuckle* You.

BeeFF: Well that makes you an old fart.

Camaro76: ::chokes::

BikerChick: *snort*

Optimust: ROFL

NotTheToothFairy: You're lucky we're not on the continent, _child_, or I'd teach you better manners.

Optimust: ROFL Let her be, NtTF, let her be. ROFL

Camaro76: You really don't doubt me, NtTF?

NotTheToothFairy: Not for a moment. And I'd tell you if I thought you were cracking or going soft.

Camaro76: I know you would.

NurseRatched: I'll happily back NtTF on this one, Camaro.

Camaro76: Thanks. I appreciate that.

BeeFF: Text the boy, if you need to. His parents wouldn't dare say a word about him sneaking out if he was with you. Besides, he's not technically sneaking out if you two stay on the property.

Camaro76: I just might do that. Thanks again, guys.


	5. We've Been Ratted Out

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Nikani, Anodythe, RK-Striker-JK-5, Clifjumpersfangirl, and Marinelife37 for all the love! Reviews are what keep us going! :)

_**TIE IN**_: This chapter ties in with the fic Introductions: Sarah Lennox. You won't understand half the characters if you don't go read that first. :) Enjoy!

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Two in the morning, and Fassbinder and I were still going strong trying to solve the mystery that was _The Daily Buzz_. We sat at opposite computers in The Effing Truth's command center, a carnivore's delight pizza dying a slow and tragic death between us. It was unbelievable how many posts there were over the last two years. This Camaro guy updated at least daily, sometimes cranking out two or three posts in a day. And what did the weirdo do for a _living_? None of the posts said anything about work. All he ever seemed to do was lurk in the school parking lot, hang out with his boy-toy, or creep out the parents. He seemed to have waaaay too much time on his hands.

Binder took a break from reading to stretch and snag another slice of pizza. "Hey Sharsky, what if Camaro's like a bodyguard or something?"

I cocked my head, considering. "Explains why the parents would put up with him."

"And the line about 'I'm the only one here for the boy.' And why he doesn't have a job or let the boy out of his sight."

True. It made sense. I mean, he even went on the boy's dates with BeeFF. Either this Camaro guy was a bodyguard, or the inseperable trio was a threesome. Considering his age...creepy! Just for my own sanity, I hoped he was a bodyguard.

Looking at the posts from that angle, it was almost painfully obvious. But that theory opened a whole other can of worms. What was Camaro76 protecting the kid _from_? And why would that boy in particular need protecting? And who were the other guys? And why was BeeFF friends with all of them but didn't let her boyfriend know about the blog? And where the eff did they come from that they didn't know about Christmas and New Years?

The next click just made the whole thing that much more complicated. "Hey Binder, we got newbies!"

Still chewing, he stepped around to read over my shoulder.

**

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WE'VE BEEN RATTED OUT!

So I'm sure you're all aware by now that this blog has come to the attention of some of the higher ups. Thanks to an impassioned plea by Optimust and our new member Survivor - and some heightened security - we'll be moving forward with several additional users. Please welcome our new family members, S&M and ConSlayer, our old friends Survivor and his wife Spitfire, and our new moderator BrassEagle.

**Comments:**

BeeFF: If you send me a single 'I told you so,' BikerChick, I'm keeping good on my threat.

Spitfire: *chuckle*

NotTheToothFairy: Welcome, Survivor! Glad they let you in.

Survivor: I still can't believe you guys had a blog all this time and never let me know. *huffs*

S&M: Yo, Survivor, we're wit' you, man! Dey didn' even let _us_ in 'til BeeFF spilled da beans. But how come we hafta share an account?

NurseRatched: So we only get half the stupidity.

ConSlayer: (to S&M) Can you blame them? Though we're going to have words about why you kept _me_ out, Camaro76.

Camaro76: It was supposed to be just for the original family, but meh. Things snowball sometimes.

BikerChick: And I'm glad to see you here, too, Spitfire. We were sorely lacking a den mother. Read the post "Celebration" if you don't believe me.

BeeFF: ::rolls eyes::

Optimust: And our thanks to BrassEagle for approving our friends' continuing support for this blog and for personally seeing to its success.

Survivor: Yes!

Camaro76: Thank you!

BrassEagle (mod): Happy to, though I'll mostly be lurking.

NurseRatched: Still. Our thanks.

* * *

"So?" Binder asked after reading the post. "That's when they got the monster encryption."

I grabbed a slice of pizza for myself. "So, get yourself another Red Bull - you're slowing down. Think, dude! Who _are_ these people? More grown-ups, looks like, since Survivor and Spitfire are married. Are S&M another couple? And eww on the name. I mean, do they have to _broadcast_ it?"

"Friends and in-laws of the bizarre, never-heard-of-Christmas family?"

"And what's up with ConSlayer?"I shot back. "Did he get scammed one time too many?"

Binder nodded thoughtfully. "More important than that, who's this BrassEagle? He's the blog's new babysitter, probably appointed by those higher-ups. Gotta be important."

"Dunno, but one thing's pretty clear. It looks like The Man took over Camaro76's blog." I felt a surge of sympathy for the weirdo. He may be a bodyguard or he may be a bi pedophile, but either way_, no one _deserved to have their blog spied on by the government! I mean, it was a _blog_ for crying out loud! It was like some stranger sneaking in to read his diary. We had _rights_ in this country, dammit!

Binder plopped back down in his computer chair. "I'm telling you, man, BrassEagle is going to be the key to all of this."

I squinted at the screen, willing it to reveal its secrets. "Keep digging."

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Author's Endnotes: If you haven't figured out who the user names belong to yet, we have them listed in our profile in the "About Our Stories" section. :)


	6. Bright Center of the Universe

Author's Notes: Firstly, WOW! Thanks so much to ChevyChick, Clifjumpersfangirl, laureas, Marinelife37, RK-Striker-Jk5, Kaede Akira, and GavinDarklighter for their wonderful reviews!

Secondly, after getting a great suggestion from laureas, we thought it might be fun to start taking requests in reviews for Bumblebee's blog topics. In keeping with the Mod Goddess' commandments, the topic has to be clean and it has to be one that can be made to sound human. Also, we probably won't be able to use everyone's suggestions, so please, please, please don't be offended if we can't work yours in. We do already have a basic storyline figured out, but fresh ideas are always welcome! :)

Now...on with the show! :D

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.

My alarm went off at the unholy hour of 9:30AM. I had class at 11 and had to shower, get breakfast, and make it all the way across campus in time because the stupid prof took roll. I mean, this was _college_ and he was still _taking roll_? Loser. It was like a mile hike, and I swear my laptop was five pounds heavier when it was in my backpack.

Laptop. Computer. _The Daily Buzz. _I remembered then snatches of dreams - BeeFF in my bedroom, a wierd guy with binoculars looking through the window, and a squirrel with a walnut pizza. _Weird._ With a groan, I rolled over and reached for my laptop. There had to be time to squeeze in a quick read of one archived post. When I saw the title of this one, I just couldn't resist.

* * *

**"IF THERE'S A BRIGHT CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE, YOU'RE ON THE PLANET THAT IT'S FARTHEST FROM"**

You know, it struck me the other day that the people of Earth really don't have much experience with the alien things of the universe. I mean, come on. The planet's been around a few billion years, and there haven't been any invasions, first contacts, ambassadorial visits, etc. I mean, sure, humans are pretty primitive, but you'd think that SOMETHING would have come to call long before their recent visitors. And the people who do believe in aliens are so desperate to have contact with the great beyond that they'll come up with anything. Flying saucers; completely alien abductions of people who like to be in distress for a hobby and have never been on a plane, much less a spaceship; and atmosphere gas that they mistake for extra-terrestrial signals. And look at Roswell! When they _do _have something real, they put it under wraps and make it an urban legend.

The only real useful information I came across was when I was Googling "Independence Day" after our conversation about holidays. By pure chance, I came across a startlingly thorough documentary of an alien invasion in 1996. Obviously, this is evidence of a tragic coverup, since US records claim that President Whitmore served at the same time as Bill Clinton, but watch it! I'm sure that the destruction of the White House was anti-alien propaganda since it's still standing, but apart from that small flaw, it's very informative. Wonder if they'll ever do a documentary about what went on in Mission City. The people of Earth need to know!

**Comments:**

Spitfire: ROFL

ConSlayer: Ditto!

NotTheToothFairy: I think I just ruptured something from laughing too hard.

NurseRatched: (to NtTF) Patch it up yourself, slagger. I'm up to my elbows in twins.

BikerChick: Yeah, I've heard of that documentary. I think we should show it at our next movie night!

Camaro76: I'm serious, guys! It's educational!

Optimust: Camaro, you just made me crack a smile.

BeeFF: Wow, that's a new one. Camaro, we're going to have a little talk about the difference between fiction and non-fiction tonight.

Camaro76: Yes, I'm aware of historical fiction. This is still something we need to take into consideration.

Survivor: Oh, absolutely. I agree. You need to keep researching this for us. Watch "ET" to study the human policies on alien contact.

ConSlayer: And "Mars Attacks."

NurseRatched: Maybe even "Close Encounters of the Third Kind."

Camaro76: No way. Everyone knows that the Spielberg ones are fake.

S&M: Yo, Camaro! Weez got 2 words fo' ya: Will Smith. Duh!

Camaro76: Men in Black and Sector Seven! It fits!

BeeFF: ::facepalm:: Knock it off, you guys! You're just making my job harder. BrassEagle, please - for my sanity - close this thread!

BrassEagle (mod): For the record, you goofballs just made me snigger during a briefing with The Chief. Thread closed.

* * *

DUDE! He had to be joking. Even for the never-heard-of-Christmas family, this was out there. I mean, come on! _Independence Day_? What was this guy doing protecting some kid if he was _that _naive? Maybe he really _was_ just a creepy stalker bi pedophile with mental health issues and no job. Abruptly the pieces fell into place - Camaro76 was Michael Jackson! No wait, he'd never served in the military, unlike PTSD Camaro. Damn, it was a good theory, too. Guess he was just the insanely oblivious body-guard with mental health issues and too much time on his hands. That didn't sound anywhere near as juicy, though.

I sighed and heaved myself off the bed, shutting my laptop. I really hoped that - whoever the creep was - he didn't post his_ Independence Day_ crap on our site somewhere. This dude was giving us conspiracy theorists a black eye. Jotting down the post title for Binder to read later, I stuck it to his monitor and went to get ready for the day.


	7. The Crappy Town Town Where I'm a Hero

Author's Notes: To Kaede Akira, ChevyChick, ShiTiger, Jessie007, Marinelife37, Nikani, Anodythe, Carmilla DeWinter, and RK-Striker-JK-5, THANK YOU SO MUCH for the reviews! They keep us writing! :)

Logistically, this chapter was a challenge. In case our formatting was unclear, Sharsky clicks on two seperate links leading to different websites. The text that is supposed to be the website is offset by a horizontal line at both the beginning and the end. In the second website, there are several headings that would be different pages or tabs within the site. Our apologies, but you're just going to have to use your imagination. Formatting on ff(.)net can be such a pain sometimes. :) **For maximum effect, read the fic all the way through to the end and then re-read the comment section.**

**_TIE IN_**: This chapter leads into the fic Introductions: Raquel Gutierrez-Ramon, which will be going up early in the day tomorrow (October 16, 2009). Enjoy!

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.

My fingers drummed listlessly across the keys of my laptop. Computer Science 132 was turning out to be the most boring class _ever_, so I was grateful for the distraction when Binder poked me via IM.

**Fassbinder:** 'sup  
**Sharsky:** yawn a minute. prof is teaching us what a tag is in html  
**Fassbinder:** found your sticky note. you had any more time to look at back posts in The Daily Buzz?  
**Sharsky:** yeah. just more photoshopped travel-logs  
**Fassbinder:** check out the "We've Gotta Go to the Crappy Town Where _I'm_ a Hero" post  
**Sharsky:** K

I eagerly clicked on the entry.

**

* * *

**

**WE'VE GOTTA GO TO THE CRAPPY TOWN WHERE _I'M_ A HERO**

Found this site (http://www(.)bbbishot(.)com) and thought you would all get a kick out of it. Confidential to BeeFF: When do _I _get a fangirl website?!

**Comments:**

NurseRatched: Aw slag. There's going to be no living with him after this.

BikerChick: *snort* I so should forward this to my sister!

Optimust: Please don't. I'd like to _avoid_ out-and-out slaughter when she gets here.

ConSlayer: There are forums….

BikerChick: (to Optimust) Are you _kidding_? She's the original fangirl! She'll want to mod.

S&M: Look at all doze women draped over Topkicks! WOWSA!

ConSlayer: I think I'm going to be sick.

NotTheToothFairy: (to Camaro76) What do you call _this_ blog?

BrassEagle (mod): How did you find this, Camaro76? My quality control people should have caught this months ago.

Camaro76: Just surfin' while waiting for the boy in the school parking lot. If you look, it has over fifty-thousand users. I hacked in, and the hits average a half-million a day. I don't know if you want to mess with this.

BeeFF: ::blink::

NotTheToothFairy: I agree with Camaro76. This site has _taste_. You shouldn't shut it down.

BeeFF: ::blink::

S&M: Read the 'Top Ten Questions'!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA *deep breath* HAHAHAHAHAHAH

BeeFF: ::blink::

Survivor: *snort* Looks like you've got some competition, Spitfire.

Spitfire: Maybe. But I'm still the one with the Black Magic.

NotTheToothFairy: (to Spitfire) Damn straight. Though BC's right that you can't claim to be the _original_ fangirl.

Optimust: They have footage…

NotTheToothFairy: This is going into my favorites _now_.

ConSlayer: This is bad…

NurseRatched: ::headdesk:: Flaming Semi and Search & Rescue are _sidekicks_?!

NotTheToothFairy: Sounds about right.

Optimust: (to NtTF) ::thump::

NotTheToothFairy: (to Optimust) You're just jealous, youngling. Fifty-thousand times jealous!

Camaro76: Check out her bio! She didn't even notice who the _real_ hero of Mission City was!

S&M: ROFLMCAO Check out da mod activity logs! Ol' Meggsie got hisself a posse o' fangirls, too! Dey keep flamin' da BBB's girls and puttin' up links to deir site! Da mod hasta keep deletin' 'em.

Optimust: WHAT?! ::jawdrop:: I don't believe this.

NotTheToothFairy: Jealous. Jealous, jealous, jealous, jealous, jealous.

BrassEagle (mod): Sit tight on this one, folks. I'm going to have to escalate it.

NurseRatched: (to Optimust) I motion that we relocate to someplace with a saner population.

NotTheToothFairy: Jealous!

* * *

My professor droned on about how to embed media, and I tuned him out. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to get away with this after another week or two into the semester, but by then we should have finished wading through all the Buzz's back posts.

Okay...? So what were they all talking about? I clicked on the link…

**

* * *

**

**BLACK BAD-ASS 'BOT**

**Welcome:**

First off, this is not another conspiracy theory site. I was there in Mission City; I know the truth. There are alien robots on planet Earth. No need to argue about it – I saw what I saw with my own two eyes. If you want to flame the survivors who are just being honest, go make a fuss in someone else's sandbox. I _will_ ban you, even if it means blocking your IP address.

Second, this is a fangirl site. You read that right: FANGIRL. One of those alien robots saved my life. I don't know his name or where he's from, and frankly, I don't care. He picked up a delivery truck and used it to block an Air Force jet's missile to protect me. This site is dedicated to him. So come if you're curious, but be respectful. He's not only hot – he's kick-ass!

**Spotting the BBB:**

For any footage to be considered for this site, it has to have some authenticating factors. After all, there are a lot sexy Topkicks out there, including one owned by yours truly, but there's only one BBB. Authenticating factors include partial conversion or the presence of one of his comrades-in-arms like Flaming Semi or Search & Rescue. But if you think you've found our knight in shiny black armor, please forward the vid to me ASAP!

Outside The City of (brotherly) Love

This cell-phone vid was taken the same day as the library explosion in Philadelphia, courtesy of ShinyBlackArmor. It's pretty grainy, but you can see our beloved BBB speeding past with S&R and a trio of motorcycles. That's the second time in a row we've seen the trio, and two of them are pink and purple. Could it be that BBB and his sidekicks aren't bachelors? (Hearts are breaking around the globe at the thought!)

Chemistry in Shanghai

Has anyone else noticed that chemical spills and BBB sightings go hand-in-hand? Quick-thinking BBB&Me certainly did, and she forwarded a real treat to me this morning! She staked out yesterday's action in Shanghai and caught this _awesome_ footage of BBB in action. That's right, two and a half minute's worth! Flaming Semi's pretty good, too. ;) Looks like we have to add a trio of motorcycles and a silver sports car to BBB's list of stylin' alien heroes!

You calling me, Yellow?

After being absent for more than a year, it looks like Yellow Camaro and BBB got together in this news clip for some drag racing in rural California. The news anchor is talking about how the crackdown on undocumented aliens (hah!) is impacting agriculture, but if you look, you can see BBB and YC racing down a dirt road in the background. Considering the lack of anything _truly_ newsworthy in the area, I'm assuming this was just a couple of friends hanging out. Even alien robot warriors need to relax sometime. :) (Shout out to FS4Me for finding this gem!)

[click here for archived footage]

**About Us:**

I don't use my real name since I am a practicing lawyer in Mission City, but I'm known in the forums as MyBBB. I also happen to have a photographic memory. It serves me well in my profession, and it served me well after the day the city was attacked. I was stuck at a light when a military convoy surrounded by civilian vehicles pulled into the intersection. I knew something was up when they set off some smoke bombs, but then the completely unexpected happened. One of the civilian vehicles (I later learned it was a black GMC Topkick) converted into a robot and yelled, "It's star scream!"

He and a yellow Camaro/robot picked up a delivery truck, and at first I thought they were going to throw it at us – even the military men were running away – but then an Air Force jet fired at everything moving on the street. The delivery truck shielded everyone stuck at that light from the blast, myself included. I cleared out of there along with everyone else, but I'll never forget the truck/robot's concern for all us mere mortals while he stood between us and harm. Since I don't know his name, I've dubbed him the Black Bad-ass 'Bot.

And for the record, my significant other isn't crazy about my obsession with aliens, but he really appreciates my improved taste in cars. ;)

* * *

I clicked on the video clip from Shanghai. The film was all aerial; had she been in a hot-air balloon? On a glider? I watched in disbelief as alien robots blew each other up, cut each other in half, and one big guy parachuted into the melee. Two and a half minutes. Two and a half effing minutes! I furiously typed to Binder.

**Sharsky:** how the HELL did she get that footage in shanghai? we got what, 6 seconds?  
**Fassbinder:** WE don't have a network of obsessive fangirls willing to run INTO chemical spills with a digital camcorder. I wonder what the life expectancy of these women is.  
**Sharsky:** we've been scooped by the effing estrogen brigade. how did we miss this?!  
**Fassbinder:** ::headdesk:: because it was the effing estrogen brigade, that's how! I just found it. MyBBB posted a link to her site in our forums three months ago.  
**Sharsky:** THAT chick? everyone flamed her as a girly-girl with delusions  
**Fassbinder:** well, we know to keep an eye on her now. Leo's gonna lay an egg when he finds out about this  
**Sharsky:** I think I just did  
**Fassbinder:** *snort* omelets for dinner?


	8. Brain Aneurysms and Impossible Things

Author's Notes: By popular demand, here is the chapter devoted to Meggsie's fangirls! :) (*cowers away from Jazz fangirls*) DarthIshtar jokingly said that she was loosely basing the head Megatron fangirl on Eowyn77, who laughed until she caught herself scolding her four-year-old for being a whiner. ::blink::

A million thanks to *deep breath* Kaede Akira, FateAndFaith, laureas, Jessie07, Cricket244, Topkicker26, Clifjumpersfangirl, RK-Striker-JK-5, Bookworm310, Nikani, Marinelife37, Nitrostreak, Carmilla DeWinter, Anodythe, and TokioSyndicate! Reviews are love! :D

...

...

...

Ten minutes before class ended, I got another poke from Fassbinder.

**Fassbinder**: DUDE! Meggsie's one lucky SOB alien!  
**Sharsky:** what?  
**Fassbinder**: check out the Buzz's next post after 'Crappy Town'!

Making a mental note to sit in the _back_ of the class next time so no one could read over my shoulder, I clicked on the link.

**

* * *

**

**BRAIN ANEURYSMS AND OTHER IMPOSSIBLE THINGS **

Really, it's my fault. I was morbidly curious. I was pretty sure that "Meggsie's" fangirls couldn't be serious. Or at least that bad.

I.

Was.

Wrong.

I don't say that much, but I was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay wrong. I'm still looking for words to say how wrong I was, but I was about as wrong as THIS website. Two words: BAKE SALE. For your own sanity, you may want to steer clear of it. Or you may want to check it out, just for a really good, sick laugh. www(.)realbbblove(.)com

**Comments:**

NotTheToothFairy: For all the things I can say about the original fangirls, this is just...well...BeeFF? I'm pretty much at a loss for words here.

BeeFF: I'm scrubbing my brain out with bleach just from that front page. Who the HELL is that nearly-naked blonde snuggling a pic of Meggsie?

Camaro76: That is the stay-at-home mom of three who runs this thing.

Survivor: Three? And dressed like that? Not bad. Honey...

Spitfire: ::smack::

Survivor: I was going to say you look better!

Spitfire: Why are you looking at scantily-clad soccer moms at work?!

Optimust: I sense that Survivor will be sleeping in the cab tonight.

Survivor: Honest, I read it for the articles.

NotTheToothFairy: ::thump::

Spitfire: ::smack::

NurseRatched: Costumes welcome? COSTUMES? I'm staying in for Halloween this year.

Spitfire: I'm half-tempted to go in there and write "Darn right! Nuke the nutjobs! Give those vigilantes what's coming to them for Mission City, for that fiasco in Rome and that debacle in Shanghai! Guardians of peace and justice, my right eye!"

S&M: Baaaad idea, femme. Even for da girl what put the whuppin' on NtTF, baaad idea.

NotTheToothFairy: They wouldn't know sarcasm if it bit them in the aft.

Optimust: And for all we know, BatesMom HAS access to nukes. Has anyone done a background check on them?

ConSlayer: Did it for the mods. Wanna know what she named the kid she popped out on the same day as Shanghai?

BikerChick: Do I REALLY want to know?

ConSlayer: MEGAN.

BikerChick: Be serious.

ConSlayer: I am.

Optimust: ::blink::

Spitfire: ::blink::

S&M: ::blink::

* * *

Okay, if _another _fangirl site had more info about these aliens than I did, I'd have to go commit hari-kari with my butter knife at lunch. Not sure if I should be feeling superior or suicidal, I clicked on the link... And suddenly wished I'd sat in the back of the class _today. _

**Sharsky:** HOLY HELL! You didn't tell me it linked to a porn site!  
**Fassbinder**: she's wearing clothes. kinda.  
**Sharsky:** if a thong and an 8x11 framed pic of an alien robot counts as clothes  
**Fassbinder**: they count. the picture covers the most interesting bits. unfortunately.  
**Sharsky:** THIS is a stay-at-home mother of three? gotta be photoshopped. or a stolen pic  
**Fassbinder**: she can be MY momma!  
**Sharsky: **dude, you need some SERIOUS therapy

Behind me, a guy was leaning forward to get a better look at my laptop's screen, and the girl beside him snorted in disgust. Well, I couldn't claim I was bored anymore. Tearing my eyes away from the disturbingly enticing soccer mom, I focused on what she thought of the alien, although the picture's proximity to her, um, heart spoke volumes.

* * *

**NO ROOM FOR WHINERS  
**  
Congratulations! You had enough brains to get here in the first place. Now stay and pay homage to the REAL hero of Mission City. If you're here to gush about the alien 'protector' robots that took apart half the downtown area, turn around and suck your thumb with the other sentimentalists at www(.)bbbishot(.)com. We don't want you here. If you know the truth, then you know that the so-called "bad guys" were the ones keeping those damned vigilantes from waging more war on American soil. That's me in the photo, and I'm a fan of the REAL bad-ass alien warrior robot. When another robot rampaged into the shop right in front of me, the TRUE hero of Mission City snatched him away from the people he was threatening and flew off with him, getting that menace off the street. Tore the little SOB in two as payback - now THAT'S how things should be done! I can't WAIT for the REAL Black Bad-ass 'Bot to take over!

**Sightings**

Don't hold your breath. My ebony god hasn't made it on Youtube in two years. See our "Area 51" section for theories on this. But his minions are alive, well and kicking, thank God. If you don't believe it, check out any video of those alien robots getting their useless asses kicked. Nine times out of ten, it ain't Al-Qaida putting the hurt on them. It's our alien robot boys in black. You can contribute footage in our "Back in Black" forum.

**For Newbies**

So, many of you ask "Here I am, what now?" The short answer is "Don't waste our time." The FAQs are here, the TOS are here and if you put a toe out of line, I'll take a page out of BBB's book. No mercy, no hesitation. Read up, get used to how we work and in the meantime, hang out in the "Nursery" until you get the hang of it.

**Group Therapy **

We few, we proud few, definitely need to spread the word and stick together. To that end, feel free to check out one of our "Local Chapters."

**Upcoming Events**

Mission City Megafans  
6/12 Round-robin discussion on practical modern warfare. 8:00-11:00 p.m. PM BatesMom for directions. Potluck dinner beforehand. Babysitting will be provided.  
7/4 Annual 4th of July picnic. 6:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. Come show your appreciation for the independence that our robot saviors enforced.

Dallas Terrors  
7/19 Bake sale and silent auction at Adelle Turner Elementary School. 5:00-9:00 p.m. Babysitting will not be provided. Come bid on everything from an advance copy of "Two-Piece: The Real Heroes of Mission City" to a cruise over the scenic Laurentian Abyss in the North Atlantic.

Boston Badasses  
8/20 Red Sox-Yankees game. We bought out fifty seats in center field, but they're going fast. Costumes welcome. Blue bulbs banned.

* * *

WOW! This chick was like the soccer mom from hell! She was probably one of those people that had a "My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student" bumper sticker. I mean, this one made the other fangirl look _sane._

**Sharsky:** scary  
**Fassbinder**: I dunno. I think she's kinda hot.  
**Sharsky:** moms getting together to discuss PRACTICAL MODERN WARFARE? what happened to tupperware parties and scrapbooking?  
**Fassbinder**: aw, come on! chicks dig bad guys, you know that. if you can be a fan of darth vader or palpatine, why not bad-ass alien robots?**  
Sharsky:** you're sick. SHE'S sick. she needs prozac and therapy. I'm with the Topkick lover on this one, Binder.  
**Fassbinder**: *snort* NP I'll take the hot momma, wimp.


	9. All Fired Up

Author's Notes: Once again, we're amazed at the reception this fic is getting. Thanks so much for all the favorites, alerts, and reviews. They're all love! :) In answer to several peoples' questions about Sam, Sharsky, and Fassbinder figuring out the truth about the blog, well...keep reading. ;)

So sorry we didn't respond to any of the reviews for the last chapter - Eowyn thought Darth Ishtar was doing it and vice versa. We really dropped the ball there, but we promise to do better if you'll keep reviewing! :D

...

...

...

I sighed at my laptop while I waited for my next class to begin. It was pretty clear that we weren't going to get much new stuff from The Daily Buzz this weekend. I'd noticed that once in a while in the back posts, they'd drop off the face of the earth and then turn up again, bitching about needing a paint job for their rides. Naturally, we'd hack the blog during one of those off-on-a-mission dead zones. For secret government agent types, they were really _boring_ like that. They could at _least_ tell some thrilling tales of WHY their cars needed new paint jobs.

So, like last night, I had to go to back posts for my entertainment. I'd been checking out some of the early ones, but those seemed to involve them all getting the hang of this blogging thing. Finally, when my Lit teacher got around to her daily lecture on why Milton's so under-appreciated by the ignorant masses, I found something a little more normal than usual.

* * *

**ALL FIRED UP **

All right, so I admit I don't get out much. Keeping the boy safe is a full-time job even when he's at home. I've been checking the crime rates in this state and have practically been sleeping with one eye open since. Well, not like I sleep much anyway. But I have to be on guard all the time, just in case.

So, the other night, the boy decided we needed some good old-fashioned R&R. He convinced BeeFF to go to a drive-in movie. I was worried about this--there are countless police reports of vandalism, public inebriation and grand theft auto at such places--but they convinced me it would be fun and all I had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

BOY, was I thrilled! We saw _The Fast and the Furious_ and I haven't been that jazzed since...well, let's just say I felt like a sugar-addict in a candy store. I can't wait to try out some of the slick moves I saw on-screen on the open road. If you haven't seen it, bug Survivor into hosting a movie night! It's fun for the whole family!

**Comments: **

Spitfire: All right, first of all? We need to get you a social life. Maybe even a girlfriend.

Survivor: She's right. At least something to do other than look under tables for potential enemies. And second to her first, it's rated PG-13 for sex, violence and language. How is that "fun for the whole family?" Third, BeeFF, you're on probation for letting him get ideas.

BeeFF: Don't look at me! It was my man's idea! And I thought we had a mild-mannered guy on our hands compared to the rest of you. You're out trying to blow things up and he's playing faithful guard dog. It's time he had a little excitement.

Optimust: I concur with Spitfire. Camaro, we may be kidnapping you in the future to give you something called a vacation. We might even bring the boy along.

BikerChick: No, he does not need a girlfriend! Long-distance is good for relationships, including friendships.

BeeFF: I'm hoping so, since my man's talking Penn State for college.

S&M: Oooo! BikerChick, if ya lookin' fo' a 'ship, weez got dubba-hubba fo' ya!

BikerChick: Excuse me while I go slaughter some obnoxious twins.

NotTheToothFairy: Booyah! Two words, Camaro: ROAD TRIP! Me, you and some stuff I saw on Youtube!

NurseRatched: If you put a single ding, scratch or rock chip in the exteriors doing something you saw in _The Fast and The Furious_, I will deny you anesthetic the next time around.

Camaro76: Ooh, I'm shaking. Where, NtTF? Mojave Desert, maybe? Or maybe a _real_ challenge, hit Alaska and see how we fare in an ice storm?

ConSlayer: If you're heading north, count me out. The salt they put on roads is murder on a finish.

NotTheToothFairy: Bring it on, punk. I'm man enough.

ConSlayer: Stupid enough.

NurseRatched: Does anyone even bother listening to me?

BeeFF: I do. Pity you're not my type.

NurseRatched: You know I'd work on you if the need ever arose.

BeeFF: Thanks, Ratchet, but until things get _really _desperate, I think I'll stick with a doctor who didn't need a handbook to understand all my moving parts.

Camaro76: What? How'd we get on this subject?

Optimust: You and NtTF were trying to out-man each other. Survivor, should we schedule a team meeting on safety-appropriate forms of recreation?

Survivor: Definitely. It'll kill their drive to act out.

NotTheToothFairy: That's what you think.

BeeFF: I'd have to agree with NtTF here. You've obviously never been a teenage boy.

Camaro76: TEENAGE? WHO'RE YOU CALLING TEENAGE? If I didn't like you so much, I'd be really offended!

Optimust: Her point exactly.

* * *

The server on campus wouldn't let us go to Youtube or our other favorites, so I had to buzz Binder. He was supposed to be in his Bio 100 class, which meant he was probably playing Halo or trying to flirt with Lian.

**Sharsky: **WAKE UP! I need a vidcheck!  
**Fassbinder: **Dude, I was in the zone!  
**Sharsky: **Bio zone?  
**Fassbinder: **Don't kid yourself. It's a Friday. What's up?  
**Sharsky: **Do a search for the unexplained in Death Valley or the tundra. Secret military bases blown up or whatever.  
**Fassbinder: **Tundra? You kidding? No one's THAT sick.  
**Sharsky: **Check out a post called "All Fired Up." Apparently, someone is.  
**Fassbinder: **NtTF. Not a shock.  
**Sharsky: **I know, right?  
**Fassbinder: **And is BikerChick Camaro's girlfriend? Maybe he's not a pedophile.  
**Sharsky: **Dude, he's THAT obsessed with a teenager. Of course he's a pedophile! His GF probably thinks it's sexy.  
**Fassbinder: **Sicko.  
**Sharsky: **Definitely.  
**Fassbinder: **Wonder if she has a sister. Oh wait, she said she does in that first fangirl post. w00t!


	10. nothing

I was ignoring my CS 132 prof, instead sifting through posts on The Daily Buzz. Twenty minutes, and I still couldn't find any travel-logs about the road trip NtTF and Camaro had talked about.

And then Binder poked me with "FTJFTJFTJ" and a link to MSNBC. I blinked in surprise for a second. Huh? Something big was going down on mainstream? Badass alien robot big? I clicked the link, and even though it was in the middle of class, what I saw made me cuss out loud and turn on the speakers of my laptop.

"...We have lived among you, hidden," the gravelly, chain-smoker voice of an _**EFFING ALIEN ROBOT**_ was saying on the screen in front of me, "but no more."

AN ALIEN ROBOT ON MAINSTREAM! In a fraction of a second, I realized that the world I'd known had just been blown to smithereens. This changed everything. EVERYTHING! We were right - and the whole planet knew it now.

My professor threw a dry-erase marker at me. "Knock it off!"

"Aliens!" I shouted back at him. "They're transmitting on MSNBC!"

The prof was too shocked to respond, but a ripple of murmurs and hissed conversations erupted around me. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the figure in front of me. An **EFFING ALIEN ROBOT **was menacing the whole world in perfectly intelligible English. Everyone with laptops had people three-deep around them, staring at their screens.

"As you've seen," the robot went on, "we can destroy your cities at will. Unless you turn over this boy."

A copy of a driver's license filled the screen. Samuel James Witwicky. Sam? SAM! I let fly a string of swear words when my roomie's face popped up on the screen - undeniable proof that the aliens were hot on our trail. I snapped my laptop shut and, elbowing people out of the way, bolted from the room. Sam and Leo were missing. The aliens were after them. They were in hiding. They might even be already dead somewhere. Pulling out my cell, I shakily dialed Binder while I sprinted across campus. "Sam! LEO!"

"I KNOW! I KNOW!" he shouted back. "Get your fat - "

"On my way!" Then I closed my phone so I could run faster.

...

For the next next several hours, Fassbinder and I worked feverishly, getting the alien transmission uploaded, calling in favors for people to monitor the boards, keeping the site up when it kept crashing from the mind-numbing traffic. Death tolls, alien sightings, mainstream footage, fringe theories...we were in our element. The Real Effing Deal was ground zero for the truth, and as the hours dragged on, we doggedly kept in the zone. This wasn't just about Leo's site, it was about giving the terrified and confused masses answers they desperately needed, even if they were sometimes reluctant to accept them.

Through it all, I wondered where the other robots were. We only had bits and pieces of The Truth, but it was clear that when these robots rampaged through a city they were _fighting_. There were at least two factions among the aliens, but today's group was unopposed. No fighting, just wanton destruction. Had the other team abandoned us? Were they all killed?

_Where were they?!_

"Why Sam?" Binder asked out of the blue during a short lull in the action. The site was up for the moment, Lian and Chuck had the boards kind of in hand, and mainstream was reduced to airing pundits.

"Huh?" I was pushing nineteen hours awake, and the first fifteen had been insanely intense. My brain was a little slow on the uptake. Time for some more caffeine. And a pizza.

"Why Sam?" Binder repeated. "Out of the billions of people on earth, why him?"

"He was with Leo," I answered. "Maybe they caught Leo and want to get Sam now, too, because they think he knows about the site."

"But if they have Leo, why would they go after Sam? I mean, he doesn't know anything."

The pit of my stomach went cold, and I whispered, "If Leo was dead…"

"There's got to some other explanation," Binder cut me off, looking as horrified as I felt.

"I'm all ears."

"He's not dead," Binder said firmly. "Maybe they're trying to lull Leo into a false sense of security by focusing on Sam."

"Maybe," I doubtfully answered.

Binder grimaced and turned away. "We need to call for some take-out."

"On it."

It was almost a full twenty-four hours after the transmission that I thought about Robowarrior's site. Wearily popping another Red Bull, I pulled up the URL. Nothing. _NOTHING._

"Binder," I said, and he gave me a worried look from the panic in my voice.

"Yeah?"

"Robowarrior's dead. His site hasn't been updated since this morning."

"_WHAT?!_"

He scurried over to my computer and read over my shoulder. Running his fingers through his hair, he swore loudly and profusely. If I wasn't so exhausted, I would have been impressed with his inventiveness. "Leo, Robowarrior - we're next," he snarled, voicing my fear.

"What do we do?"

"We can't abandon our post," Binder declared firmly. "It's the real effing deal. You don't give up on The Truth. This is bigger than us."

Nodding my head, I sat up straighter and got back to work.

When I'd been awake for almost thirty hours, the caffiene stopped working anymore and I crashed hard. "Gotta sleep," I mumbled to Binder. "Wake me up before you turn in. Somebody's got to keep the site up."

He nodded grimly.

As an afterthought, I pulled my laptop up onto the bed with me and opened to The Daily Buzz. What did the PTSD bodyguard and his special-ops buddies think of all this?

_Nothing._ No posts since last week when he was going on and on about how happy he was to be going to college with the boy. _**NOTHING!**_

Were they dead? Was BikerChick or NtTF one of the thousands of people who'd been crushed in the rubble? They were all military - had they been on the Roosevelt when it went down? The sheer awesome force of destruction had been overwhelming, but here were names I knew, people whose stories had made me laugh and intrigued me. It made that mind-blowing number of deaths suddenly real_. _Real people. Real names. Real friends with real voices and personalities and histories. Real lives that were shockingly cut short. _Seven thousand_ times over.

I wiped away tears, thinking I must be going soft from the exhaustion. I'd seen people crushed and toasted by these robots on vids, but this was something different altogether. I _knew _these people. The past tense hit me hard, like a punch to the gut. Camaro and his friends...were they just...gone?


	11. 22 Minutes

Author's Notes: In case you've never seen the term, QFT = quote for truth (basically saying that you agree with the above statement in a forum post). Also, for more about the "connection" between Optimust and the boy, please see "Kinship." (Sharky and Fassbinder are the ones with the dirty minds - not us!) The Lit professor's opinions are the actual ones of a professor at Brigham Young University, from whom DarthIshtar had the misfortune of taking Scottish Highlands Literature.

...

...

...

Things were _not_ going well. It had been nine days since the Droid of Death transmission and I'd pulled an all-nighter half of those nights. It would have been easier with Leo around, natch, but he was still MIA with the new guy. So it was up to me and Fassbinder to coordinate the volunteers, mod the comments and keep an eye on all the relative sites for some news, _any _news. Plus Binder had a huge paper due in his lit class and I had to cover two of his shifts.

It was so bad that my comp sci class was confusing me. Since when was HTML tagging a hard subject? It made it harder that I'd busted one of my contacts last night and had to guess at what was on the overheads.

The prof paused for a minute to answer a question from a cute redhead and right on cue, Binder IMed me. I tried to perk up enough to spell correctly, but it didn't work all that well.

Fassbinder: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz  
Sharsky: Dangit, man, I was in REM cycle!  
Fassbinder: Comp sci, eh?  
Sharsky: Yup. What's your excuse?  
Fassbinder: My lit professor thinks that the theme of _Ivanhoe_ is that Bush should have never sent our troops to Iraq. Where'd he get his PhD from, Kaplan?  
Sharsky: Probably. Anything exciting on the _Buzz?_  
Fassbinder: Haven't checked since I got to campus. Prof caught me checking it yesterday and said the next time he'd drop me a letter grade. Can you help?  
Sharsky: On it.

Lian had texted me just before class to say that she was heading off, so it had been about twenty-two minutes since any of us checked up on things. But I didn't expect anything. Watched blog never boils and all that. I stared at the overhead and pretended to be _really_ interested in whatever it said while pulling up the URL. I glanced down once more so I could type in the key and then waited.

Sharsky: Loading...  
Fassbinder: Cruncha cruncha cruncha. Oh, come on, even I don't think the guy who wrote _Treasure Island_ was a Democrat!

The next thing I was aware of was a blinding pain in my right knee. It had smacked the underside of my desk pretty hard when I shot to my feet. Then I noticed that everyone, even the cute redhead, was staring at me. I supposed that pumping my fists in the air and squealing like a girl would do that.

The prof, the same one who had ragged on me for the Droid of Death thing, looked majorly unamused. "Can I help you?" he drawled. "Did Mars attack?"

He'd probably flunk me right there and then if I told him what I'd found, so I said the first thing that came to mind: "BATHROOM! NEED BATHROOM! NOW!"

That wasn't exactly coherent, but I wasn't feeling really coherent right now. He glowered while the rest of the class sniggered like high-schoolers. "I assume that you can find it on your own?"

I ignored him and shoved my laptop, power cord and textbook into my backpack. "_Now,_" I repeated. "Major emergency. Might take a while."

The sniggering turned into the real life version of ROFLMAO. I bolted from the room, texting "911 911 911" to Fassbinder. My phone rang just as I was running down the steps. I dropped my backpack in the same puddle twice before I could get the call.

"Talk to me, dude," he shouted, sounding almost as out of breath as I was. "What's the 411 on the 911?"

"THEY'RE BAAAAACK!" I roared back at him and the universe at large. "Heading home now. Get. There. QUICK!"

I made it there in record time since I'd sprinted the whole way and had the site pulled up by the time Binder burst through the door.

"Whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhat?" he demanded.

"New post from Camaro76," I announced like a proud papa. "I _KNEW_ they were too tough to kill!"

He grabbed a chair and straddled it, staring avidly at the three paragraphs that had gotten us all out of more boring higher education.

* * *

**NOT YOUR TYPICAL SUMMER VACATION  
**  
Well, yeah, I'd say it was good to see you all last weekend, but man, those were crazy times. When the boy ditched me back home, I tried to cheer myself up by saying that now I might have some quiet time to myself. Boy was I wrong about that! Well, you know the story.

Either way, I'm back home, not exactly in one piece, but at least still kicking. I'm lucky to be alive. Hell, we _all _are, some of us more than others. I think I'm going to put in for some PTO and take a Hawaiian road trip. Who's in? Might even work on my tan. Wonder what SPF I'd need.

In other news, I might be moving. The boy finally came to his senses and figures he could use me around. I'm going to need _snow tires!_ This is AWESOME! Buzz me when you guys are out of debrief.

**Comments:**

BikerChick: Sorry, Camaro, I'm just about done with sand. Don't you want to see scenic Norway or something?

Camaro76: No way. I'm cleaning out the iTunes store and finding out what's so special about Waikiki. Back me up, BeeFF.

BeeFF: Sorry, hon, I've got some bruises that I don't want to show off in a bikini. And I'm with BC. Sand is out. I'm still finding it in my clothes, my hair... You get the idea.

Camaro76: Fine, fine, you're not invited anyway. I know you're a daddy's girl.

BeeFF: *snort*

Camaro76: Where _is_ everyone, anyway?

NotTheToothFairy: You banned S&M for a week, remember? They're the only ones who haven't been mired up to their axels in meetings. Not all of us got to skip off into the sunset.

Camaro76: Go on recon, you mean. Officially I'm on a mission while the rest of you slaggers are chillin' on the base – hence the need for PTO before I can hit the Big Island.

Survivor: CHILLING?! I wish! (to NtTF) No joke. I'll go on a road trip to anywhere on or off the planet if it means I don't have to talk to someone official for a few days.

BrassEagle (mod): Sorry. Not a chance. (But QFT)

Spitfire: As long as you bring me, too, soldier. I swear we got to talk more when you were in Qatar! And Camaro76, why waste PTO? You've got some HOLIDAYS coming up in the not-too-distant future.

Camaro76: *groan* More window clings?

NurseRatched: *snigger* You know she only plasters your glass with those to get a reaction.

Camaro76: You'd react, too, if anyone was brave enough to slap 'em on your windshield.

Spitfire: Hmm...window clings. :) Dora the Explorer Christmas window clings. :)

NotTheToothFairy: (to NR and Camaro76) ::thump:: Now look what you did! If I get slapped with holiday cheer, I'm gonna slag the both of you.

BikerChick: lol Note who he will _not _be slagging.

ElectricBlue: (to NtTF) I don't understand why a big warrior like you would be intimidated by a _girl._

ConSlayer: Yeah. Show a little backbone, NtTF.

Survivor: ::blink::

NotTheToothFairy: ::blink::

Optimust: ::blink:: On behalf of my soldiers, Spitfire, please accept my deepest and humblest apologies.

Faithful: If she's anything like BeeFF, you're toast, CS. (to Spitfire) Promise you'll make a vid? With lots of screaming and sparks flying!

Spitfire: LOL Come on, you guys! You make me sound like a monster.

NotTheToothFairy: I've seen you lose your temper... (to EB) You're new, so I think Spitfire will cut you some slack, but trust me. There is a _REASON_ I would never even _think_ of slagging her, and if you have any sense, you'll treat her like you would any femme.

NurseRatched: Put her on the front lines and let her do all the dirty work?

ElectricBlue: ::blink:: Got it. Sorry, Spitfire.

Spitfire: For crying out loud, guys, I don't bite!

NotTheToothFairy: Except Survivor - but he's an exception. ;)

BeeFF: Mind the rating, boys!

* * *

I was more than a little touched by the whole thing, but Binder made a noise of disgust. "That's IT?" he demanded. "Almost two weeks of not knowing if they're dead or alive or what and that's IT?"

"They're not dead," I gloated. "That's what's important. I was actually starting to miss those guys..."

"And when Robowarrior got offlined..." he added. "Yeah, it was pretty intense. But this is _boring_! We have proof of alien life and Camaro76 can't talk about anything but his tan lines!"

I hit the refresh button, hoping for more comments, but I got something even better - another post.

**

* * *

**

HOUSEKEEPING

Oh, and an official welcome to our newest members Faithful and ElectricBlue. BrassEagle will soon be sending you a copy of the rules and regs for using this site. Until then, please refrain from commenting. (Sorry BrassEagle!) Also, we'll probably be adding a few new friends to the site soon so keep an eye open and make sure you give them a _warm welcome_ for me. Thanks!

**Comments:**

NotTheToothFairy: Translation - the boy is gonna be pissed so he wants us as a buffer.

BeeFF: About time he got a username! Even S&M are in on this!

BikerChick: You were the one who didn't want him here in the first place, BeeFF!

BeeFF: Funny how three little words change one's perspective. ;)

Camaro76: Besides, everybody else and their _dog _(*coughFaithfulcough*) is on here. May as well include him.

Optimust: Don't worry too much, Camaro76. With the connection the boy and I share, I'm certain I can keep him from becoming _too_ angry.

Camaro76: Thanks, Optimust!

* * *

Fassbinder snorted as he read over my shoulder. "Looks like the pedophile has competition. And Camaro76 welcomes it? Do I even want to know?"

I shook my head in disbelief. They may be twisted, bizarre, and maddening, but they were back! With the death-toll pushing 11,000 and the last survivor pulled from rubble more than a week ago, knowing that Camaro76 and the gang had survived was a welcome ray of hope. At this point, I'd take every word of good news I could get. I touched the screen, thinking, 'Welcome back, guys.'


	12. PARTY!

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and alerted this fic! Kateydidnt wants to let you all on a secret - you can log in to The Daily Buzz by following the link on our profile and clicking on the "Log In" button (just don't put anything in the username or password fields). :)

Also, just to clarify, we're not confused on canon - Sam and Leo lie through their teeth at one point here.

Enjoy!

...

...

...

The dean called both Fassbinder and me into her office the next afternoon to inform us that both Leo and Sam were alive and returning to school, that Sam _was _the same Samuel Witwicky the Droid of Death had been after, and that we were to treat him like just another normal human being. If we couldn't handle that, then we'd get moved to a different dorm room.

We exchanged a glance, and I said, "We'll do whatever it takes to keep Leo as a roommate." Because Binder and I were both hell-bent on getting the effing truth out of both Leo and Sam, and no way were we letting this mystery get away from us. We'd kept the site alive while the boss was away – he _owed _us.

"Very well. If I hear a word of complaint from Mr. Witwicky, you will be moved so fast it'll make your head spin. Now…good day, boys."

Later that evening, Leo and Alien-boy waltzed into our dorm. "Where have you _been_?" I demanded before Leo could even drop his bags on his bed.

"Yeah," Fassbinder jumped on him. "Our servers were _slammed_ when the Droid of Death thing hit the news. Everybody was going on about how we were right and then the forums were flamed by The Man."

"We kept crashing and had to angle for more bandwidth each time. Finally managed to hijack a dedicated T-1 line from the Lit department, but the good news is we _totally_ scooped RoboWarrior! It was like he was under a rock or something. His latest post says his blog is on hold indefinitely."

"Well, that's good," Leo answered, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"So what do you think it really was?" Sam asked.

"It was the real effing deal – FINALLY!" Binder exclaimed. "Blew the cover off. Like, sky-high!"

"But The Man is blaming it on _us_!" I still couldn't believe that part.

"What?" Leo demanded.

Binder snorted. "They said it was some conspiracy-theory terrorist group that was trying to break up a supposed one-world government. Frankly, alien robots sound more plausible to me."

"What do we have?" Leo asked, cracking his knuckles and joining us at the desk.

"Amateur video from around the globe," Binder eagerly said. "Hours and hours of it. I've got Chuck, Jamal, Brat, Harrison, even Lian working on sifting through it for the best stuff. Even got a few professional feeds with audio. And of course, there's the Droid of Death transmission that we have in its entirety on the site."

"Speaking of which," I said, rounding on Sam. Binder and I looked at him expectantly.

He rolled his eyes, grimacing slightly. "It was a case of mistaken identity. I mean, I'm a college freshman. What could I possibly have that the demon droids wanted?"

Binder and I both crossed our arms, staring him down.

He eyed us for a second and then said, "Okay, yeah. You're natural-born skeptics, so I know it's pointless to lie to you. But that's the official story, if anyone ever asks, okay? All our lives could depend on it."

I leaned in closer, grinning in anticipation of this top-secret knowledge.

Conspiratorially, he said, "My great-grandfather was an explorer. He discovered an alien artifact that burned a lot of information into his DNA. Hard-coded it, I guess you could say. The information was passed on, and that's what the Droid of Death was after."

My jaw hung open, I was so awestruck. "Did you…you know…dream about it or anything? Like did you know you were a walking alien encyclopedia?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Not until the Droid of Death showed up, and then I had this weird mental break-down in Astronomy. But dreams and stuff? Naw. My dad and grandpa both led a normal life and never knew."

Binder looked from me to Leo, wide-eyed. "Is that…?"

"The real effing deal," Leo confirmed. "They took a blood sample from him that's so top-secret even the President is on need-to-know about it. But seriously, public story is it was a case of mistaken identity. The Droid of Death was really after his great-grandfather but didn't understand how short a human lifespan is."

"Dude!" I leaned against the desk, grinning. I _loved_ being in the know. "That is effing _awesome_!"

Leo smirked and then sobered. "So what's happening with the site?"

"The forums are on fire – we have almost a million users now – and we've got eye-witness accounts and even a thread for those who had loved ones killed or injured in the attacks."

Sam was wide-eyed as he watched some of the video. "Wow."

I would never look at him the same again. Having him here was just…too cool! Walking alien encyclopedia for a roommie – it was like fate or karma or something. I wondered if we would be able to sneak a DNA sample without him knowing, but I realized I wouldn't know what to do with it once we had it. Besides, like he said, our lives depended on keeping this secret, especially his. Even with The Real Effing Deal site, we weren't out to _hurt_ anyone.

"Yeah," Binder said, "and we've got a dozen volunteers that want to sign on, but I didn't want to take anybody in until we've had a chance to make sure they're clean."

"Because you have to see _this_," I exclaimed, hopping on another computer and pulling up _The Daily Buzz_. "Lian finally hacked that monster-encrypted government blog."

"She did? Great!" Leo bolted around to look, Sam following.

"We didn't think it was anything at first," I explained, "but the more we thought about it, the more…just…weird it seemed, and we think there must be some code language being used or something. So we've been following it. This went up just this morning."

**

* * *

**

P-A-R-T-Y!

I got a little note today from Spitfire:

Hey everyone! Survivor and I had an idea. To celebrate Optimust's return to the land of the living, I thought we could have a little get-together at our place on the island. BrassEagle has already cleared everyone for time off and transport. All the food you can eat for friends, and for the family, I'll be giving spa treatments to anyone who can make it (sans waxing, because there's NO way I could handle that much surface area). S&M have already signed on. Any takers?

**Comments:**

NotTheToothFairy: It's worth it just for the spa treatment, not to mention seeing Spitlet. Count me in!

ConSlayer: What's the point without the wax?

Spitfire: A waxing party? If I didn't know better...Well, let's just saying I am smirking in the face of your masculinity, boys. Especially you, NtTF!

NotTheToothFairy: (to CS) Oooh, trust me. This is NOTHING like what you get on base.

BikerChick: You're not kidding, NtTF! I'm in!

BeeFF: *snort* They don't get it.

Survivor: NtTF still loves your Black Magic, Spitfire.

Spitfire: (to Survivor) ::thump::

Survivor: You all are witnesses! Spousal abuse! Spousal abuse! (And in front of Spitlet, too!)

BikerChick: You go, girl!

Camaro76: Ooh, feisty. She and BeeFF would be good friends!

BeeFF: What makes you think we aren't already? And speaking of that, what about those of us who are just friends? No spa treatment?

Faithful: I'm short! Can I get a wax?

Spitfire: If I do one for you, I have to do one for everyone else.

Faithful: Please, BeeFF? Please, my warrior goddess? You'll give me one, won't you?

BeeFF: Think about it, Faithful. If I used the orbital buffer on you, NurseRatched will be fixing more than just your eye.

Faithful: How about a hand wax?

NotTheToothFairy: Pervert.

Camaro76: Hey BrassEagle, do you think the boy will have a username here by then?

BrassEagle (mod): Still working on getting him clearance.

NotTheToothFairy: You've _got_ to be kidding.

Survivor: It's the old "left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing" thing.

BrassEagle (mod): And there's a backlog when it comes to him and paperwork right now.

NurseRatched: (to Survivor) That's physiologically impossible.

Spitfire: lol It's just a figure of speech.

NurseRatched: Then it's a ridiculous figure of speech. First is the issue that hands can't _know _anything. And then there's the issue of what kind of lower life-form would be so mentally deficient that it can't even keep track of what its appendages are doing?

Survivor: My point exactly. (to BeeFF) We'll have to think about traditional spa treatments. Maybe we could rent a hot-tub. I doubt there's a masseuse with high enough clearance.

NotTheToothFairy: Hey S&M – clearance! Hahahahah Where are those little punks, anyway?

ElectricBlue: I heard cussing coming from NurseRatched's office just now…

BikerChick: About time somebody shoved a sabot up their afts.

ConSlayer: I call dibs on the next time.

Optimust: I'm the one responsible, and I get dibs on _every_ time. Occasionally, violence can be very satisfying.

ConSlayer: Can I watch, at least?

Camaro76: Yeah, Optimust! You need to put it on the blog's calendar so those of us who have to travel can be there!

ElectricBlue: You could sell tickets!

NotTheToothFairy: Tickets nothing. This is what viral video was _made _for. This could be bigger than the exploding whale. Numa numa! Lonelygirl15!

ConSlayer: Wasn't Lonelygirl a Pretender?

BikerChick: Popular theory, but no. Just bad writing.

BeeFF: Besides, she was going after my man. Had to smash her spark.

Spitfire: Smash her spark?

BeeFF: You know. Like break her heart. Only harder.

NotTheToothFairy: Back me up guys. We could go IMAX!

Camaro76: Dare to dream, NtTF.

Survivor: rofl It'd drive the conspiracy theorists NUTS!

BrassEagle (mod): This thread is closed for going off topic.

* * *

"So," I said, turning to Leo and Sam. "What do you think?"

Leo was glaring at Sam, and Sam was scrutinizing the comments, his brow furrowing, his lips silently moving as he repeated the various usernames.

Binder said, "It's got to be some kind of coded military operation. Camaro76 is a bodyguard for this boy – "

"Or he's a creepy stalker pedophile who gets his kicks going on dates with the boy and BeeFF," I added.

Sam kind of choked and turned green at that. Clearly Alien-boy had a delicate constitution or something. No guts at all.

Binder rolled his eyes and ignored me. "…And he has 'higher ups' and has fought in a war. I had to google 'sabot'; it's a high-heat missile designed for melting tank armor. Only military would talk about things like that in casual conversation, and it's just the kind of thing they'd try to use on an alien robot. We just can't figure out what it is exactly they're talking about."

I pointed to the last two comments. "And then as soon as they bring up the conspiracy theorists BrassEagle shuts 'em down. I think they know we've hacked 'em and they're taunting us."

"So whaddya say, Leo? Do we dig for the real effing deal on this, or focus on the Droid of Death?"

"Divide and conquer," he answered, glaring again at the new guy. "Sam and I will get to the bottom of this. You guys focus on documenting the attack."


	13. New Threads, New Treads

Author's Notes: It's Eowyn77's birthday, so in the tradition of her native fandom, here is a mathom for you all in celebration! If this seems a little more cracky than usual, it's because Eowyn was sleep deprived and Ish is legally entitled to copious quantities of controlled substances at the moment. (And Mudflap is running amok on Eowyn's kitchen table.) Kateydidnt bears no responsibility for the final product, but she's guilty of feeding energon to plot bunnies and shamelessly egging us on.

If you'd like to see the fine young man who inspired Cam Romero's look, visit www(.)imdb(.)com/name/nm1341364, especially the portrait of him in the black shirt. It wasn't until we wrote this Author's Note that we realized Aaron Hill had a small part in RotF, so any resemblence Cam might have to the frat boy whose shirt doesn't come any tighter is purely incidental. (Although that might make for a fun little subplot...) ;) Enjoy!

...

...

...

It was 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning and Alienboy was worrying about his hair. Not that he had much of it in the first place, but he'd tried it parted to the left, to the right, down the center and sort of tousled. On someone who didn't look like a Kewpie doll, the tousled look might have worked, but his hair was just unfortunate in general and this was no exception.

Clearly, things were not going well. He'd been on edge ever since a phone call on Thursday. He hadn't gone into detail, but we'd overheard him talking about "smoothing things over" and "getting the frigging idiots from MSNBC off my butt." From that and a few other comments to Leo, we'd gathered that for PR purposes, the higher-ups wanted him to make some kind of public statement about the Droid of Death transmission. I didn't get what he was so worked up about except maybe public speaking.

"Give it up, man," Leo counseled from his desk chair. "Just let the hair happen."

Sam whipped his head around and gave Leo a scathing look. "Does it LOOK like the hair's just happening?"

"The hair's the least of your worries," I informed him helpfully. "Let's talk threads."

"Definitely," Fassbinder agreed.

"I've got the threads covered," he protested. "Mom made me hit Sears before my college interviews."

"NoNOnoNOnoNO!" Leo shot to his feet in protest of this injustice. "That's what the man WANTS, you lackey! Who's in control, you or them?"

"Uh...let me think about that," he drawled sarcastically. "If I want to survive until Thanksgiving break, THEM."

"That's what you _let_ them think," I informed him. We'd had this conversation the first time Leo'd had to meet with the Dean. "It's all about misdirection, dude."

The kid had a lot to learn. It was going to be a huge challenge just to get him in the right mindset, much less walking the walk as well as talking the talk.

"Yeah," Sam snapped. "The best thing to do when trying to convince people that I'm normal is to get up there with a Mohawk and tie-dye."

"Well, not a Mohawk," Fassbinder protested, looking hurt that he'd actually thought that little of us, "but next time, I'd go with frosted tips."

"No way, man." I waved a corndog in protest. "No roommate of mine is going all Lance Bass on me."

"Heard," Leo agreed.

"You guys think this is pretty funny, huh?" Sam muttered. "You don't have to stand up there on national TV and beg for your own privacy."

"I'm telling you you're going about this the wrong way," Leo informed him. "Mistaken identity or not, you've got a major chance to speak out right now. If you want some talking points, I could give you some note-cards..."

"NO!"

At that moment, there was a furious pounding on the door. Either the army had arrived or Alienboy's Macbook maven was about to make an appearance in the flesh. When he opened the door, some sex goddess waltzed in with another guy I'd never seen before. He looked like he'd either wandered off the football field or just gotten fired from his job as a bouncer. Tall, blonde, all biceps.

Improbably, impossibly, Xena in Jeans threw her arms around Sam's neck and tried to perform a tonsillectomy with her tongue. Why couldn't _I _have been the one with alien-abduction fangirls? Probably another case of mistaken identity, especially since he looked a bit shell-shocked when she was done.

"Guys, this is Mikaela my girlfriend," he said. "'Kaela, this is Fassbinder and Sharsky. Leo you know."

I was trying to decide who to stare at, the scrawny guy's drool-worthy girlfriend or the slightly unnerving guy who had 'bodyguard' written all over him.

"Pleasure," Fassbinder purred, shaking her hand a little too warmly.

"Sam," Mikaela growled after ignoring him completely, "your hair."

All three of us threw our hands up in disgust, but Sam was staring slack-jawed at Thor over there. "What the..."

"Cam asked if he could come along for moral support," Mikaela informed him. "This is Leo, Fassbinder and Sharsky. Guys, this is Cam Romero."

"Cam...Rom..." Sam suddenly burst out laughing rather uncontrollably. Great, preppy had finally cracked. "Yeah, sure, the more the merrier."

"Good." She shoved a duffel bag into his arms and closed the door. "Orders from Will. Nothing embarrassing, nothing purple, and if you even think about wearing your 'Rage Against the Machine' shirt, you're spending Christmas with the twins and their collection of Ernest movies."

Strong-and-silent grinned at Sam's ashen face and let fly a convincing "DOH!" in the style of Homer Simpson.

"You, you and you, OUT!" Mikaela ordered.

I was a bit turned on by her domineering, but I obediently scuttled off to the office with the others. Having nothing better to do, I plopped down in front of a computer and reflexively pulled up the internet. After perusing the Daily WTF and lolcats and checking Robowarrior's site again (still nothing), I looked up The Daily Buzz.

* * *

**NEW THREADS, NEW TREADS**

So...new town, new challenges, new opportunities. I finally took BikerChick's advice and got a makeover. I can't wait to see the boy's reaction to the new me. I really hope he likes it - I thought it would be fun to surprise him. BeeFF sniggered when she saw me, but she said I looked fine, so we'll see.

Our friends set store so much by how they look, and I want to get it just right, but the whole process is kind of overwhelming. Ever since I heard the boy had changed his mind and wanted me nearby, I've been working on this new form. There are so many _options_, with nuances of meaning behind the various choices. Tweak the eyes or the hair color and people look at you completely differently. And talk about pressure – I'm committed to this look for a while. Well, I'm meeting up with the boy today – BeeFF said I could tag along – so when it comes to how I look, it's do or die.

I'm sure you'll be watching the broadcast along with the rest of the world, so check back afterward for my poll.

Later.

**Comments:**

BikerChick: Eyes or hair color nothing. Trying being female for a day!

Camaro76: I'll have to take you up on that sometime. It'd be a kick.

BikerChick: Oh! We can go shopping for clothes for Spitlet.

Faithful: ROFLMCAO

BeeFF: ROFLMHAO

Spitfire: *wheezes for breath* Can I tag along? Please?

S&M: We's comin' too! Plz? It be a double-date!

BikerChick: (to S&M) No. Slagging. Way.

S&M: Yous just jealous at da idea o' Camaro datin' us.

BikerChick: (to S&M) ::thump::

Camaro76: (to S&M) ::THUMP::

Survivor: PICS! We need _**PICS!**_

NotTheToothFairy: For the love of plasma cannons, Camaro, have a little masculine self-respect!

Spitfire: Says the tough guy who paints Spitlet's fingernails and styles her hair.

NotTheToothFairy: That's different.

NurseRatched: I don't know why I even bother with cultural training packets. :P

ConSlayer: I'm with Survivor - PICS!

ElectricBlue: You only want pictures for blackmail purposes, CS.

Conslayer: Your point?

BrassEagle (mod): No pics. Too much of a security risk.

ConSlayer: Killjoy.

Optimust: I'm pleased to see that you're adjusting well to your new setting, Camaro. And I'm sure the boy will be happy to see you no matter what you look like. Even though we will all be standing by him as he faces this challenge, I'm glad that you'll be staying with him permanently.

* * *

Leo leaned over my shoulder to read and busted out laughing. Fassbinder joined him and snorted. "Add cross-dresser to the list."

"That BikerChick seems to like it," I sniggered.

"She would," Leo chortled. "And NtTF doing a little girl's hair?! That'd be blackmail material right there."

"No doubt."

...

At noon, Leo, Binder, and I popped a bag each of death-by-butter popcorn and set up a TV on the roomie's bed.

"Okay, boys," Leo declared, all business, "here's how it's going down. Each time he states the obvious, chuck whatever food is in your hand at the TV. Any Freudian slips, you dump the whole bag on his bed, and the person to correctly guess the number of times he says 'uh' or 'um' gets an video-card upgrade. And if Alienboy asks about the bed, all you do is smirk and tell him, 'Freshman 55.'"

Fassbinder and I just stared at him. "Trying to compensate for a lack of Jeana Warrior Princess?"

He smacked me up the back of the head. "For the record, I was snogging scantily-clad island natives while you two were chatting up Lian."

"Uh-huh. _Sure,_" Fassbinder muttered. "They had you high on _something _at this secret government compound."

"Shh!" I ordered them both. "It's starting."

On the screen, our roommate stepped up to the podium. Well, the threads weren't too bad. Sure, they made him wear a suit coat, but Bootylicious Mikaela had gotten him to look like he belonged on Jay Leno or something instead of Larry King Live. "Hi. My name is Sam Witwicky." He paused and you could just see him mentally facepalm.

Leo threw a handful of popcorn at the TV. "Brilliant, Witwicky."

He half-smiled, half-winced almost like he'd felt Leo's pitch and awkwardly shifted his scrawny weight. "But you, um, know that already. Thanks for...uh...letting me talk to you today. I just wanted to...uh...clear a few things up..."

On the whiteboard in his lap, Fassbinder put down two tally marks under the "uh" and one under the "um".

And then Sam paused and stared, almost like he was focusing on someone in the back of the room, and straightened his shoulders. Looking back over the crowd of reporters, he said, "We all have questions about what happened and why, especially those who have lost loved ones. To you, I offer my heartfelt condolences."

Leo had been poised to throw another fistful of victory corn. Instead, his fist clenched in what could only be described as a spasm. "Holy phft..."

"That was _weird_," Fassbinder commented dazedly.

My eyebrows furrowed. "Is it my imagination or did my favorite Martian just go all Manchurian on us?"

"Pre-programmed response?" Fassbinder postulated. "Triggers?"

"Speechwriter?" Leo deadpanned, looking highly annoyed with SOMEONE. Damn, three sentences into his speech and dorkwad was already ruining our fun!

"I wish I had answers for you," Alienboy continued. "Even more, I wish I that those whose lives were lost were still with us. There are no words adequate to the express my regret that so many innocents were affected by this monumental tragedy."

_"Adequate?" _Leo snorted.

_"Monumental?" _This guy had all the 'Herbie the Love Bug' movies on his shelf. Where did he get off saying crap like 'monumental.'

"Body-snatchers," Fassbinder muttered. "Dude got possessed by someone with a vocab and no sense of style."

"Or the teleprompter from hell," Leo postulated. "I can see it now. 'Just say what we tell you to, boy, and no one gets hurt.'" He nodded, obviously liking that idea. "Maybe this is the price he has to pay for not being hauled off to the lab in Langley."

After Area 51 and the killer alien robots, the secret CIA human experiments were Leo's favorite theory. Neither of us really believed it, but because he tended to be right about this sort of thing, we went along with it. At a loss for monumentally adequate words to cuss the little douchebag out, I threw a double fistful of vengeance corn at the screen and then fist-bumped Fassbinder.

The rest of the broadcast was just like that. Sam looked and sounded like some politician, going on about remembering those lost and valiantly moving forward, though at that point, he kind of verbally stumbled with a 'did I _really _just say that?!' expression on his face.

"Do it, Sam!" I shouted at the screen. "Fight your programming!"

Leo threw a handful of popcorn at _me. _"Shut up!"

"Yeah," Fassbinder agreed. "We don't want to miss any coded messages!"

But Alienboy caved, focusing on something in the back of the room for a second before plowing forward again, talking about finding peace with what happened and wanting some semblance of a normal life. Even when he got to the part where he asked for people to leave him alone, he was nice about it and...creepily eloquent.

When he finally finished his world-class monologue, Leo muted the pundit and we all just stared at the TV in shocked silence for a moment.

"Guy was _definitely _coached," I concluded.

"Oh, come on," Leo scoffed. "You saw him whimpering about his hair. No amount of coaching could turn him all Abe Lincoln like this. Has to be a teleprompter or maybe an earpiece."

Or maybe having Cam along for moral support worked. Either way, that Sam was so _not_ the dude I knew.


	14. PreParty HEADS UP!

I ran into Alienboy coming back from classes Friday afternoon with a bunch of mail in his arms, including what looked like two packages.

"Sah-weeeet," I said. "Anything for me?"

He tucked a long poster tube under his chin and rummaged through until he found a Dell catalogue and a letter from my little sister.

"Enjoy."

"Who's got the poster?"

"That'd be me," he said, tossing most of the mail on his own bed. "From Mikaela."

I sniggered at the whipped sound of his voice. "Should I…let you view that in private?"

He had already popped the top off and picked a note out of the top. "Awww, she wrote me a love…"

He trailed off in mid-sentence at the sight of the contents and his face fell.

"What?" I asked. "She dump you for whoever's on the poster?"

He got to the end and blushed a little, so I guessed that it wasn't that. "Naw," he chuckled. "This is for Leo."

"From your girl?" I spluttered. "You're kidding me!"

In answer, he read the note out loud. "'Sam, sorry to make you the FedEx guy, but I want to surprise Leo with this gift. Make sure it goes up where he can enjoy it and think of the good times we had when you were otherwise occupied.' Okay, now I'm _really_ curious."

"Ditto," Fassbinder said from the doorway. "What good times did Spitzmeister have with _your_ girlfriend?"

Sam wadded the note up and shoved it in his pocket; he then extracted the poster and glanced at Fassbinder. "Lock the door."

Fassbinder did so quickly and we crowded around to observe. Sam unrolled it carefully, but by the time the poster was half-open, we were both glad we'd stayed for the show.

"Oy veeeeeeeeeey," I said in a bit of awe. "Check out those coconuts."

"Wrong," Fassbinder said. "Those are _date_ palms. You get coc…"

I smacked him upside the head as Sam finished unrolling. He seemed to be speechless at the site of our Leo snuggling up with two Banana Boatalicious hula babes, grass skirts and all.

"Can we get a reduction?" Fassbinder asked. "A coupla minutes with Photoshop and that could be me with Honolulu and Waikiki."

Sam pulled it so close that he could have put his nose through it, but instead of studying the contents of the girls' over-the-shoulder-coconut-holders, he squinted at their arms. I craned my neck to squint at the same space and spotted a little green sports car on one honey's bicep and a red one on the other's.

"Grass skirts and tats. That is _so_ hot," Fassbinder sighed.

I was definitely going with them next time they got abducted by aliens. "So where you going to put it?" I asked.

"Put it?" Sam echoed, his voice a little squeaky. "I'm trying to decide if I should burn it."

"Come on, Close Encounter," I wheedled. "You had the CIA after you. Let Leo have his moment of joy."

Fassbinder preemptively grabbed the poster away from Sam and hopped up onto Leo's bed, experimentally holding it up to the ceiling.

I frowned at him, pointing at the _Hackers_ movie poster signed by the cast. "No way. You'd have to cover that up."

"Or move it," Sam suggested. Fassbinder and I both gasped in horror.

"No way, man," Binder answered, moving the poster to the wall beside Leo's bed. "His mom moved it twice and broke a bone within a day each time. Leo's got some voodoo on it or something."

"Yeah," I agreed. "You don't touch the _Hackers_ poster. But you can't put it there," I protested. "It'll get in the way of Big Brother."

"Guess you'd better give it back to me," Sam hopefully said.

Binder and I both ignored him. International alien superstar he might be, but he obviously didn't get your basic geek. Besides, we'd been read the riot act about treating him like just another guy - taking him under our wing and teaching him how to prank and hack and 'hunt in the wild' was just doing our job. Right? "Why don't you cover up Hunny Bunny?"

Binder grinned. "Why have one sexy chick when you can get two - with tats! Sharsky, gimme some tacks. And hurry. Leo should be back from class any minute."

I scurried into the server room and scrounged up some tacks from Leo's desk. When Binder had Leo's little souvenir stuck on the wall, he hopped down and crossed his arms, admiring his work.

Elbowing him and Sam, I said, "Let's hide in the other room and watch his reaction. Your girl would probably love it if we got footage of it."

Binder gave me a fist-bump and we both dove for the servers, pulling out our cell phones. Sam looked around his bedroom once and then nervously followed us. I sniggered with Fassbinder as we experimented with getting the best angle.

"Mind if I borrow one?" Sam asked after Leo failed to make his appearance. I looked at him, and he gestured toward a computer.

The walking alien encyclopedia was welcome to share my personal computer lab anytime. "Sure."

A few minutes later, he snorted and started shaking with laughter, and I read over his shoulder to see what was so funny. It was _The Daily Buzz_.

**

* * *

**

**HEADS UP**

NurseRatched sent me a little note this morning and asked if I'd post it:

BrassEagle has approved a shipment of "the good stuff" for the party, but I know some of you (coughConSlayercough) like to mix your own cocktails. Since I don't want to be inundated _again_ the next morning, here's a list of do's and don'ts. And please note that _I will be off-duty_ for the duration of the party and the 12 hours thereafter. Don't come whining to me if you mess yourself up because I'll be sleeping it off, too!

Approved:  
Jet fuel  
Gasoline (any octane)  
Propane (but _only_ in 1-pound canisters, Faithful)  
Butane  
Natural gas  
White gas  
Galena - Grey

Use with caution (these should only be used to spice up cocktails):  
Battery acid  
Any over-the-counter fuel additives  
Paint thinner  
Hydrogen (because I _know_ ConSlayer will find a way to get his hands on some)  
Capsaicin  
Iron filings

Banned:  
Sugar  
Bleach  
Colas and other soft drinks  
Any grain alcohols (except as ethanol or methanol)  
Bananas

And I'm only going to say this once: ElectricBlue is the _only_ one allowed near power transformers or lines. Anybody else will be turned over to the tender, loving mercies of NotTheToothfairy. As one who's been subjected to his bedside manner, I don't recommend it.

**Comments:**

BeeFF: What's with the power lines? This is a story I haven't heard!

NurseRatched: Nor will you.

Camaro76: Imagine NurseRatched with the judgment of S&M, the propensity to blow things up of NotTheToothfairy, and the focus of Faithful.

Spitfire: OUCH!

Faithful: WHAT YOU SAYING?

S&M: DITTO!

NotTheToothfairy: That it wasn't pretty and neither are you!

ConSlayer: What about dry ice?

Optimust: Two words for you, ConSlayer: cryogenic stasis

Camaro76: Trust me. You don't want to mess with that stuff.

Survivor: No grain alcohols? That's not going to go over well.

Spitfire: I can't party without my Dr. Pepper! (I might want a little grain alcohol myself. This will be my first big party since weaning Spitlet.) Oh, and what about chocolate?

Optimust: That's why NurseRatched felt this list was necessary. He knew the entire crew would be in close proximity to some pretty volatile combinations. We would expect you to follow your own best practices on these matters.

BikerChick: You mean grain alcohol and rocket fuel don't mix? ;)

ElectricBlue: Not without something going *boom* eventually, _especially _if NtTF is anywhere near. And don't worry, NurseRatched. I don't like what the power lines do to my head.

NurseRatched: I always knew you were one of the reasonable ones.

NotTheToothFairy: Mmm…Galena.

Bikerchick: No way. NurseRatched said you're not going near Galena until your vitals are back to normal and we all know THAT's not going to happen any time soon if we leave you to your own devices.

ConSlayer: *snort* Wait 'til you see him with the propane!

Faithful: It comes in fifty-pound containers, you know.

NurseRatchet: ::headdesk:: I know. I have the authority to ban it altogether, and I'm already tempted. Don't push me, Faithful.

Faithful: Fine. Great, big, crabby lugnut.

* * *

My jaw dropped. "It's an ingredient list from the effing Anarchist Cookbook! What are they _doing_ at this party?"

Sam sobered up a bit, but he sniggered every now and again. "I do _not_ have the slightest idea. And I would _not_ move heaven and earth to be there for it, either." He looked up at me, struggling to keep a straight face. "I would_ not_ want to be at a party where they have beer and butane."

"Plastique with pink umbrellas," I added.

He consulted the list with a wry grin. "A Galena Grey Goose."

"Absolut fuel additives."

"Now you're talking." He chuckled, then closed out of the window. "These guys are crazy."

I wondered if he'd gotten through the part with the military pedophile with a heart of gold. "You don't know the half of it."

Binder shushed us and I dove for cover peeking my phone up to watch (and document) the show.


	15. Trouts vs Techs

Authors' Note: We're back at our usual crack! :) Fair warning: put down any fluids, finish chewing any food, and move to someplace where sniggering, snorting, and the occasional chortle are socially acceptable. Also, as a personal aside, Ish and Eowyn developed part of this chapter while on an airplane with too little sleep, too much time on our hands, and _way _too many peanuts.

...

...

...

I could hear the gentle rattle of keys in the doorknob--we hadn't wanted anyone walking in on the decorating efforts--and then the door squealed slightly as it opened.

"Yo," I called. "Good day?"

"It was decent," Leo said dismissively. "I am _so_ ready for this weekend."

"I hear that," Sam commiserated. "What do you suggest we do?"

"Suit up," Leo called in our direction, oblivious of my camera phone. "I got the 411 on a sweet non-Greek fiesta tonight and we're gonna...hafta..._dios MIO._"

Piece by piece, his stuff toppled. The bucket of KFC landed, lamentably, drumstick-side down. Then his books sorta thudded one by one. It would have been nice to see his face, but we had to settle for profile. What I could see of his eyes was pretty glassy.

What followed was a string of the kind of Spanish that Senora Ashford had NEVER covered in Spanish I-III. I probably should have turned the recording off and edited that part out, but this was turning out to be just too good to leave undocumented.

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"

Sam guffawed, but I handed the phone to Sharsky and sauntered forward to offer my congratulations. "Sorry, man," I said. "I doubted. I was wrong. When you said you'd been snogging hula honeys, I didn't know they were this..."

At a loss for adequate adjectives, I waved my hands descriptively in an hourglass shape. Leo continued to stare in glassy-eyed catatonia at the poster, but he made a slightly choked off noise. For the next about thirty seconds, he sounded like he was trying to get rid of a bad throat infection or maybe a hairball.

"OFF!" he snapped.

"Aww, c'mon," Sam wheedled. "Mikaela sent it special for you. It'll hurt her feelings if you dis it."

"OOOOOOOOOOOFF!" he practically bawled. "And as for your sex goddess..."

"I'll tell her you were speechless with joy," Sam suggested. "She'll like that."

"She'll like my foot up her..."

"Watch it," Sam warned. "Her big brothers wouldn't like it if you played rough."

Surprisingly, that shut Leo up, but he glowered at Sam with the fire of a thousand suns. Maybe things had ended badly with the practically-topless twins.

"If you don't want it, can I have it?" Sharsky asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

Leo slumped over and grabbed one of the fallen drumsticks; his aim was good and his projectile thunked off of Sharsky's big forehead. "I want this in the biggest shredder we've got by the time I'm out of the john."

He bolted for the appropriate door, but not before he grabbed his toothbrush and loaded it with about half a tube of Crest. Once he was gone, I looked wistfully at the bronze goddesses. They were just to luscious to shred. I'd have to delegate that to Sharsky.

To my surprise, Sam pulled down the poster and rolled it up.

"What, you're giving up that easily?"

"You heard the man," Alienboy sighed. "We have to respect his wishes."

It was rare for him to respect ANY of Leo's wishes. I exchanged a glance with Sharsky, but kept that thought to myself.

"Really?" I said instead.

"Really," Sam confirmed. "Besides, we don't need this."

"Aaaaaaaaand why's that?" I asked.

He upended the poster tube and something fell into his palm: a SD card. "She sent the originals, too."

...

It was The Weekend. Namely The Weekend of The Big Game. At the beginning of the semester, when we were more young and less foolish, like any normal, sane people, we would be in our dorm, hiding enthusiastically from all the pigskin-throwing, beer-swilling, brain-cell-burning red-blooded American freaks on campus.

But this was a special occasion. Games like this came around only once a year and we were NOT going to miss the chance to exploit some Techtards.

"It's all about the dough," Leo confided in Sam the Thursday beforehand. "The fans'll be too buzzed to notice what they're doing and they'll bet on anything from the winning score to the color of the cheerleaders' underwear."

"And I suppose you stack the deck," Sam asked dryly.

"Nah, I don't mess with that kind of thing," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Not for lack of trying, but those are some _chicas calientes en fuego_ that you _don't_ wanna touch, if you take my meaning. Like a tiger that needs its Valium."

Sam considered that slightly mixed metaphor for a second and then took a long, slow look around the 'supply closet' known as Leo's dorm-supplied desk. "So, then, what's with the Bond equipment?"

I wasn't sure an extra-large everything-hold-the-anchovies-and-bell-peppers counted as Bond equipment, but it was a vital part of the whole process.

"Part entertainment, part work, part basic human needs," I supplied.

"I can read you in, but if I tell you, I'll have to kill you," Sharsky added.

"Yeah," Sam snorted. "I've heard _that_ before."

A coupla weeks ago, that kind of comment would have had us texting for the duration of our next class, but since we were getting a little used to Alienboy, we all laughed and figured he'd spill his Martian-probed guts when he was ready. We could respect his space, since he was good enough to respect ours.

"Fassbinder," Leo said imperiously, "if you please..."

I'd been thrilled beyond words that the Spitzmeister was letting me take point on this one, but as he'd pointed out, I was the most qualified for this operation. I spun in my desk chair and started keying up programs.

"Behoooold," I announced. "Step 1, we hack into Sportsbook(.)com. There are a lot of local punks who try to run the game, but if it's old-fashioned gambling you're after, this is the place to go. Plus they've got the security of a child's treehouse."

To demonstrate, I gracefully accessed the account of the Dean of Admissions.

"Here we have Client A," I recited. "There are certain fees associated with any wagers and this is no exception. What Client A doesn't know is that the so-called transaction fee is only half the fault of the capitolist pigs running the place. The other half goes to an outsourced server maintenance guy from one of the affiliates like ..."

"Leo Ponce de Leon Spitz, gambling god," Leo interjected.

"And it gets split four ways," I finished.

"Four?" Sam asked. "There's only..."

"Me, Fassbinder, Sharsky and our supply fund," Leo explained. "We have to pay for the pizza _somehow._"

"That still doesn't explain the lapel cam," Sam reminded me.

"Step 2," I continued. "We have our own sideline in the fine art of gambling and have to keep someone on hand to make sure that no one welches on our local bets. That's where our 'Loan Sharsk' is going to come in."

Sharsky and Leo shared an exultant fist-bump in honor of his brilliance.

"Step 3," I concluded, "we have a way of checking out suspicious activity..."

"By hot girls..."

"And drunk idiots," I agreed. "It's cheaper entertainment than Netflix."

"Fascinating," Sam drawled. "So, you're just going to have Sharsky wandering around, looking lost?"

"Oh, no," I sniggered. "I forgot the all-important Step 4. Leo, if you please..."

He half-bowed and turned around to rummage through a drawer. He turned around with a flourish and displayed his wares proudly.

"Sportskitties," he announced. "Tabbies in football helmets, minxes in baseball gloves, persians on tops of pucks. The ladies'll love them."

"They're revolting," Sam diagnosed.

"Of course they are," Sharsky pointed out. "They'll be a goldmine!"

"We've got the same kind of permit as those idiots selling programs," I explained. "No one'll give us a second glance unless the honies start stampeding."

"And that only happens when I sell shirtless," Sharsky added. "I exercise discretion."

"You want in?"

"Only as a spectator," Sam said. "I might even chip in on a pizza."

"Good man," Leo crowed. "Clear your schedule for Saturday. You didn't have anything major planned, did you?"

"Uh..." Sam looked as if we had forgotten our own birthdays. "Term paper?"

"Don't worry," Leo said. "We can fix those too."

...

Saturday dawned bright and way too early when Alienboy's phone started playing the _Jaws_ theme at full blast. He snorted and rolled over, hit the "reject call" button like it was the Snooze and went back to snoring. Ten seconds later, it started up again.

"SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP," Leo whined.

Sam finally decided to put us out of our misery and put it on speakerphone. "'Lo, 'Kaela," he grunted.

"TAKE ME OFF SPEAKERPHONE," the sex goddess bellowed. "I DON'T WANT YOUR ROOMMATES EXPOSED TO FOUL LANGUAGE."

"Mmmmfeisty," Leo muttered.

Sam scrambled to do his girl's bidding and was out of bed within twenty seconds. By the time a minute had passed, he had bolted for the door and was trying to calm her down.

"'Da hell?" I asked.

"Beats me," Leo said around a yawn. "Maybe she finally saw reason and is dumping him for someone with style."

We didn't hear much of the conversation, but I heard one puzzling outburst: "GINGER! ROOT AND GINGER! YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T...BUT...YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE HIS WORD OVER...I'M HANGING UP RIGHT NOW...Yes, honey."

He came back inside a few minutes later, looking both whipped and irritated. Inexplicably, he went straight to his desktop and started typing furiously.

"Domestic troubles?" I asked.

"Shut up."

Even more puzzling was the next string of sounds that Alienboy made. It switched between "AGH!" and "SLAG!" and the occasional "Like _hell."_

Leo tried to sit up and thought better of it. "Dude, get a grip," he grumbled. "You've got an audience."

Sam ignored him, apparently engrossed in whatever was on the screen, and then jerked to his feet, snagging his jacket in the process. "I'm gonna slag him to the Matrix and back." With that completely incoherent comment, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.

"Should we go after him?" I wondered. "He's going on about ginger-root and the Matrix. Does he think he's Neo now?"

Binder sniggered. "That makes Mikaela Trinity?"

"She can be my Trinity any day!" I mumbled, wondering what I would dream if I fell back to sleep with _that _thought in my head.

"I don't get paid enough for this," Leo complained, pulling the blanket over his head. "Go back to sleep. What's the worse that could happen to him?"

"Abducted by aliens?" Binder joked.

"Been there, done that," I snarked back, following Leo's lead and hiding from daylight for a few more hours.

When I finally caved to the inevitable and got out of bed, it was ten-thirty. The others were still asleep, with the exception of Alienboy who was still AWOL. Oh well. Maybe he had breakfast with the President or something. Logging on to my laptop, I pulled up my standard morning fare - The Daily WTF, The Straight Dope, and The Daily Buzz. Shoulda checked the Buzz first.

* * *

**TROUT VS. TECHS, PART 1**

And the boy said he didn't need my protection anymore. *pshaw* You all should have seen the bloodbath tonight! You think I'm joking? They were burning the enemy in effigy at a bonfire. How could anyone do that to a poor little bobcat with wire-rimmed glasses and a pocket protector? It was so _cute_! I had always thought football was just a game – I had no idea that Survivor's back-yard get-togethers were actual combat training.

The boy and his buddies went to the bonfire, of course, and I _almost _followed them around in person. The atmosphere reminded me too much of the "defense recruiting rallies" back before the War – high-grade, psychotropes, and a passion for violence. Of course, it was hard to take the boy's mascot _too _seriously when it came to the violence bit. It's a trout. A _trout_! What numbskull thought that one up? What's it going to do, swipe all your fishing lures? Even _I _recognize that trout are not intimidating.

And the school colors (see the "Celebrations" entry for more about the significance of colors) are teal and orange. And not the good kind, either. We're talking the-color-of-gangrene teal and the kind of orange that has nothing to do with citrus and everything to do with radioactivity. Which means their big, bad mascot is a color-blind fish. In a football helmet. (You can imagine how well _that _works.) Of course, the geeky bobcat isn't much of a threat, either. Although you'll get a kick of out this: the Tech's colors are red and purple!

More floozies (one of the more fun words I picked up from The Mrs.) threw themselves at the boy, but don't worry, BeeFF, he ignored them all. Although you might want to have a couple of words with him, like "underage drinking."

Kick-off is tomorrow at 14:00 hours. I know that'll be the middle of the night for you guys, but the graveyard shift should be able to watch it, and I'll be doing my own post-game show. And who knows? Maybe you'll see me on camera!

**Comments:**

ConSlayer: Can it be true? Was golden boy drinking like a fish?

NotTheToothFairy: *snort*

Spitfire: I'm telling The Mrs.!

BeeFF: No need. I'm _all _over that, and she's going to be _easy _on him compared to me!

NurseRatched: Camaro, you follow him in person the next time he gets it in his squishy head to attend a primitive excuse for a celebration, and I give you permission to blast any alcohol you see if he so much as thinks about imbibing. I don't care what BrassEagle would have to deal with afterward – the boy is too important to us for him to voluntarily pickle his brain.

BrassEagle: (to NR) Nice to know you care. :P (to Camaro) Recon and evac as needed, but do _not_ engage the beer!

Camaro76: Noted.

Optimust: Perhaps he and I need to have a talk.

BikerChick: OP said that in his "not happy" voice, in case you missed it, Camaro. For the sake of the boy, keep him away from the liquor!

S&M: If we was da boy, we be mo' worried 'bout da Hatchet!

BikerChick: (Just re-read "Celebrations") Wait a second! You mean they actually _wear_ those colors? Not like a symbol or brand but actual orange pants and teal shirt or something? Orange _and_ teal? Simultaneously? _Voluntarily_?

Survivor: Sure. Sports fans have been known to dye their hair or wear face-paint in their teams' colors, too.

BikerChick: Save him, Camaro! Just load him up and get the Pit out of Dodge!

Faithful: *snigger* Typical femme.

NurseRatched: *sigh* NtTF, do you think you could keep BikerChick from killing Faithful for me? I'll start prepping med bay.

NotTheToothFairy: Spoil sport.

BikerChick: Ditto. I still can't believe they charge $40K a year and have _orange and teal _as their colors!

ConSlayer: Are you STILL going on about that?

BeeFF: No one would ever take a geek-school like that seriously if it actually color coordinated.

NotTheToothFairy: I can't believe that the colors for the boy's rivals are red and purple. Perhaps an infiltration is in order.

ConSlayer: Count me in!

Survivor: Don't even think about it, you two. BrassEagle would never go for it, and I know the only reason you want to go is so you can blow up some red-and-purple banners.

BikerChick: You two are as bad as S&M.

S&M: Sez you! Yous in the brig, femme! Soon as we's off duty, we gonna swing by.

Spitfire: *snigger* I'll come see you in a bit, BC, and keep the wolves off your back.

* * *

What. The. Eff. "LEO!" I bellowed, running over to shake him like a ragdoll. "Wake up! WAKE UP!"

He swatted me away, mumbling, "Unless there's a hot blonde in the room who _isn't _an alien robot with a bondage fetish, SHUT UP!"

"The pedophile is _here_!"

Sharsky grumbled, "It was a nightmare again, Binder."

"No! Seriously!" Grabbing my laptop, I pulled up The Buzz and shoved the open computer under Leo's blanket. "Read the post."

A minute later, he threw off the blanket and sat up, reading and re-reading the screen with the kind of manic intensity usually reserved for naughty photos or a new Star Trek trailer.

"What the...he's...WHAT?"

"I KNOW!" This was bigger than the Droid of Death. Yeah, that was validation. This was _personal_. "HE'S LOCAL!"

"Like hell he is," Leo muttered. "No way is he getting away with this."

"But that means The Boy is here. He could be in our lit class! We've probably even seen him!"

"Seen who?" Sharsky muttered, pillow still flung over his eyes.

"THE PEDOPHILE IS A TROUTS FAN!" I bellowed to aid in the wake-up process.

"Comes with the territory," he said around a yawn.

It took another thirty seconds, but he then sat bolt upright. "The pedophile's HERE?"

"Thanks for joining us," Leo drawled. "Yeah, looks like he was at last night's bonfire."

"Gawd," Sharsky breathed. "That narrows it down to, what...ten thousand?"

"Better than six billion," I rejoined. "We've got progress!"


	16. Trouts vs Techs part 2

Author's Note: We blame Katiedidnt. She plied us with positively scrumptious (and patriotic) cake, and we finished up this chapter on a happy sugar buzz. No airplanes were involved in the drafting of this chapter - we were stationary the entire time (except for Ish, who had to move her feet off the couch to make way for Eowyn77's Faramir). To our fellow Americans, Happy Fourth of July!

Legal disclaimer: All previous warnings regarding eating, drinking, and socially-appropriate sniggering still apply. :)

...

...

...

Needless to say, we spent the intervening time between epiphany and kickoff fine-tuning our plan. It was going to be a busy enough weekend without us having to worry about superspy-surveillance. In addition to lapel-cam, Sharsky now had a pocketful of notecards on military insignia, a body mic that fed back to Leo's Dell and an earful of advice from all of us-including Alienboy-on what to do if he made actual contact with 'Camaro76.'

No go. We sat glued to the screens, looking for anything or anyone that looked out of the ordinary. That didn't narrow it down enough with all the freaks painted nuclear-orange and bridesmaid-teal with latex fish masks pulled over their heads. We spotted sixteen total military types, four guys who masqueraded as enlisted but were just frat boys trying to show off their toned butts in camo pants because it looked tough. Five of the sixteen officers were female, so we decided that it had to be either one of the eleven or someone dressed in civvies. None of them seemed to actually be trailing one of the students, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Someone that smart had to know a little bit about stealth. He might even be Special Ops.

"Dammit," I muttered at the screen. "We should have sent backup."

"It'd have been overkill," Leo muttered back. "The special events office isn't wild about our venture capitalism in the first place and having two of us would have been too conspicuous. Plus, we don't want to tip our hand."

"What about _him_?"

Leo squinted at the hook-nosed goon in sunglasses who looked like he'd learned his maneuvers from _Mission: Impossible_ or _Men in Black._ "Maybe. I don't think Camaro is that much of a douchebag, though."

"Keep an eye on him."

I deftly dedicated a string of security cameras to the effort. For all of his Agent Smith impersonations, he wasn't very good at skulking, but at least he kept himself courteously in range of our sensors. As soon as the game started, he slunk up one of the tunnels into the stadium proper.

"Track him," Leo barked. "I wanna know that joker's every move."

For someone who wasn't even a likely suspect, Leo was getting pretty worked up about it. "Sharsk," I hissed into the mic. "MIB at 2 o'clock. You got a visual on him?"

"Roger," Sharsky hissed back. "Sure he ain't Secret Service?"

"Highest-ranking jerk there is the mayor," I pointed out. "He doesn't rate a special agent. The guy's gotta be a freelancer."

"I'll canvass his turf," Sharsk promised. "We got a lot of sororities out here and they'd love some kitties."

They certainly did. While 007 glowered at the game from behind his Ray Bans, Sharsky sold three hundred dollars worth of squee. He'd have had more success except a bit of a catfight suddenly broke out over one of those dumb-ass blond gods from Mu Kappa Chi. Sharsky was knocked down in the melee and after a few seconds of me yelling "RETREAT! RETREAT!" into his headset, he slunk back to the tunnels to nurse his wounds and check the score.

It wasn't pretty. Even I was sickened by the end result and I hadn't paid attention to sports since the Red Sox kicked butt in 2004. That had been the origin of my betting fascination, but I didn't care who won or lost as long as I got paid.

All told, we made over a thou between kitties and 'transaction fees.' We were going to have the pizza party to end all pizza parties and still have enough left over to upgrade some of our surveillance stuff. With a little luck, we'd catch some of the Greek honies who were bored with simpering, heart-broken jocks.

Apparently, the pedophile was not as jubilant about the end results of the day, either. A post went up so quick that he must have blogged it off his Blackberry on the way out of the stadium.

**

* * *

**

TROUTS VS TECHS, PART 2

Well…yeah. Be grateful the game was during the graveyard shift - because they buried us. Final score: 9-63. I had a seat about a third of the way up behind the goal posts, which was Techs territory during the second half, so I got to see the vast majority of the action up-close and personal.

And speaking of up-close and personal, the final score of assaults inflicted on me by female fans is a staggering five slaps to the face, three beers thrown at me, two phone numbers suggestively slipped into my rear pocket, and one knee to the groin. Either my new look was based on someone who's a total player, or the enemy has a _lot _of co-ed Pretenders on campus. The knee-er certainly felt strong enough to be one.

And speaking of strong femmes, if you think the Trouts' score is a little odd, you'd be right in more ways than one. The only points put up on the board were three field goals – by their female kicker. Go ahead, BikerChick, rub it in. I'm going to go make sure the boy doesn't drown his woes in anything stronger than beer or ale of the non-carding kind.

Later.

**Comments:**

Survivor: OUCH! That must have been a _bloody _game. What was the injury tally?

Camaro76: Quarterback got a concussion about ten minutes into the game, four guys on the offensive line were sidelined by the half, and their first-string kicker broke something in his ankle about five minutes into the third quarter. That's when they subbed in the female kicker. The only reason there weren't more injuries in the second half is that the Techs' coach started subbing in their second- and even third-string players.

BikerChick: "_Nah nah naaah-nah, nah nah naaah-nah, hey hey hey, good-bye._" Sounds like the femmes kicked aft all the way around. And speaking of afts, what kind of pain did you lay on the femmes who dared to touch yours?

Camaro76: Um...let me get back to you on that.

BikerChick: CAMARO, you gotta stand up for yourself! Don't let the fact that they're female intimidate you!

Optimust: BC, we do not espouse or encourage violence. Especially towards femmes. They may have sinned in ignorance.

BikerChick: Ignorance? Have you _seen _his makeover? They could only claim ignorance if they were using a seeing-eye dog!

S&M: [comment deleted]

BikerChick: [comment deleted]

Survivor: *snigger*

NotTheToothFairy: *snigger*

BikerChick: Snigger at me, will you! My sister would _love _to get your opinion on the virtues of being single.

S&M: *snigger*

Spitfire: Oh, stop provoking her. Men!

NurseRatched: Yes, for the sake of my squeaky-clean med bay, STOP PROVOKING HER!

Survivor: What are you doing up this late at night, honey?

Spitfire: Spitlet's been crying for the last hour.

NurseRatched: Did you give her an anti-inflammatory for those teeth she's cutting?

Spitfire: Yes. It hasn't helped a whole lot, and neither has the numbing ointment.

NurseRatched: Copy that. I'll be there in a few minutes.

Spitfire: That's really not necessary. She's just having a rough time with these molars. Besides, aren't you on duty?

Optimust: He's on his way - with my approval.

Survivor: LOL What are _you _doing up this time of night, Optimust? Aren't you on duty next shift?

Optimust: Yes. I am. Turning off comment and update alerts now...

ConSlayer: Was the big guy seriously staying up to watch the game? After he ordered us not to if we had the morning shift?

Survivor: Privileges of command, CS. Now get some rest.

* * *

I hadn't noticed my fingers drumming on the desk until Leo shouted "BINDER! LAY OFF THE PERCUSSION SECTION!"

"Shut up," I snapped. "I'm_ thinking_."

There was a moment of silence, but I couldn't tell if it was because he was letting me process all the information or if he was stunned into silence by my telling our fearless leader to ST*U. Probably a bit of both.

"Care to enlighten us?" he asked, his tone a little acidic.

"Last Buzz post," I said brusquely. "This guy isn't just local. He's playing the field."

"You're kidding," Sharsky practically squealed. "That narrows it down even more."

"Not really," Leo considered, sounding a little more like himself than he had a moment ago. "This is college. Everyone with a libido is trying to play the field. Some of us _chamacos_ are just experts in that field."

"Well, pedophile isn't doing too bad," I retorted. "Check this out."

I read the section on assaults. By the time I got to the back pocket reconnaissance, Sharsky was ROFLing, Sam had facepalmed and Leo was looking grudgingly respectful of the guy's womanizing skillz. Hell, I had to be impressed by the beercount. At my most randy, I'd peaked at two in twenty-four hours.

"What did BikerChick have to say to _that_?" Sharsky wheezed.

Someone knocked at the door, and too interested in reading the feminazi's reaction to be bothered with answering it, Leo hollered, "Come in."

Thor from the other day let himself into the room. Sam choked on his snigger and staggered - dove - at the guy, kind of bouncing off him. "Bee! Let's go get some air."

The guy looked at him quizzically and then glanced at our computer screen, his jaw dropping.

Sam looked kind of shell-shocked until Bee or Thor or whatever the hell his name was bolted from the room, and Sam ran out after him without a word.

I looked at Sharky, completely confused, but Leo shrugged it off. "Bet that was the first time he saw the final score."


	17. Rush Order of Holiday Spirit

Authors' Note: Special thanks goes out to Darthishtar's mom for her real-world contribution of "Dorm Room Feng Shui" to Ish's book collection. Also, Eowyn apologizes for any potential disappointment that there won't be a chapter on 'The Tie That Binds' tonight. It's the first week of school for her kids (including her youngest, who is starting kindergarten this year), and so she's crazy-busy. Intro:Annabelle will be updated next week, and then Tie That Binds the week after that. Also, thanks to Kateydidnt for her kick-aft beta services and egging us on. Hope you enjoy! :)

...

...

...

Once the big game was over with, there wasn't much to do. It wasn't panic-time yet for finals and the frats on campus were mostly too bummed to party for a while. I ran straight through the last week of November and smack into the week of Thanksgiving.

It felt weird coming home. I'd looked forward to Thanksgiving break for weeks, mostly because there was nothing like Mom's home cooking no matter how much we paid for a cafeteria plan and the frequent pizza. Plus there was something about being in the cramped room that I'd used for eighteen years. Not that it had ever been _small_, but it was so overloaded with gadgets and experimental technology that there had barely been enough room for my laundry hamper, much less my textbooks. I had streamlined my collection just because it was damn _expensive_ to ship all that stuff to the East Coast. I had gotten by for three months thanks to three external hard drives, the prerequisites for my program in electrical engineering and Sharsky's permission to tinker with anything that broke.

It was a sign of homesickness that I even missed my sister. Nancy was five years younger and your typical brat. Got away with everything, could do no wrong and I had to set an example for her. Sure, I'd gotten into an Ivy League school and was acing everything except my lit class, but the 'rents couldn't forget that just last year, I'd gotten suspended for revenge-hacking the school's server. All I could hope was that absence made the heart grow fonder and they'd be as happy to have me home for a few days as I was to be there.

"I can't believe you're passing up on a chance to soak up some sun to hang with Alienboy's clan," I muttered to Leo the night before we all parted ways.

"What, you _loco?"_ he muttered back. "I'm saving up for something big. I ain't going home unless both my parents and my dog die in a horrible crash or something. They'll be impressed with my dedication to my studies."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you were all that tight with his parental units," Sharsky added. "Are you sure you don't want to get the sympathy of one of those Delta Psi locals who would just love to have a nice boy to bring home for dinner?"

"Tempting, but no."

He left it at that and went back to embedding a new vid for the site. I exchanged a look with Sharsky and he just shrugged. Leo moved in mysterious ways and sometimes, it was best to just let him - that's what Sharsky was thinking, and six months ago I would have agreed with him. But Sharsky and I had held the fort and kept the Real Effing Deal alive when it really mattered. Things were...different since the whole Droid of Death thing. The thought made me snort at myself. The whole world was different since the whole Droid of Death thing.

"So," Sharsky said. "Anything good going down on Black Friday? We should make a cool thou' off the football games and I'm in the mood for a new iPod."

"Dream big," I chided. "I heard Best Buy has free shipping all weekend. Me, I have a date."

My last comment hit a lull in the conversation and caused a bit of really unflattering stunned silence. Everyone was staring at me like I'd just announced I was carrying Captain Kirk's lovechild.

"You _do_ know that doing it in RPG doesn't count, right?" Leo asked.

I threw an eraser at him. "Shut up."

"Who with?" Sharsky asked eagerly.

"Our glamorous Google goddess: Lian."

Both Leo and Sharsky started fanning themselves. Leo let out another string of things that started with "_O dios mio"_ and ended with some hand gestures that would get him slapped on any campus in the country. Sam, faithful loverboy that he was, rolled his eyes and went back to the obligatory room-clean before his 'rents arrived.

"Leave it for your ma," I suggested as he contemplated how many stains it took for a shirt to actually need a wash. "She'll take one look at your trash can and forget to grill you about your sex life."

"Do you really want her cleaning up everything?" Sam challenged. "Unless you're really confident about my mom's inability to find your parents' phone numbers, I don't want her rummaging around in here."

"True," I conceded. "There are things in here that no one over the age of twenty-three should _ever_ see without first consulting their physician."

"Word," Sharsky and Leo agreed.

"Just to be on the safe side, we might even want to put some things in storage," I suggested. "And put the site on lockdown until we're all back."

"You got it, man," Leo said. "Unless Robowarrior comes back from the dead, I'm actually taking a vacation."

Fat chance. He'd anonymously stalk all our usual sites and call me on Saturday to lift the ban. As long as he could hold out until Monday to require actual work, I didn't mind so much.

"Anything new on the _Buzz?" _Sharsky asked once I'd been surfing for a few minutes.

"_Nada, nada_ and more _nada_," Leo answered for me. "Maybe the boy's gone home for the break."

"We'll have to see," I agreed.

For lack of anything else to do, I decided to check on the aliens' fangirl sites. BBBIsHot(.)com had gone inactive just as mysteriously as Robowarrior, which had made me think first of conspiracy, but the webmistress had seemed okay with it. She hadn't raged against the dying of the light or anything, just said that she had decided to take down most of her content out of respect. Respect for the aliens, maybe. Or respect for all the people who had lost family and friends in the Droid of Death thing and didn't want to hear about anyone worshipping the giant alien robots, no matter which side they were on.

I checked every couple of weeks just because she occasionally posted a link to a fundraiser for the affected families or something like that. She'd raffled the last of their official t-shirts before Halloween. Today's post was more seasonal, though.

I read the title of the blog post out loud. "Things I'm Grateful For."

"New post?" Leo yelped.

"I wish," I called back. "It's the Topkick fangirl's website."

"Sweet," Sharsky said. "Link me to the vids."

That was the thing. She hadn't posted a single new thing. Maybe she was intimidated by the YouTube flood of vids that showed the Droid of Death transmission in sixty-nine languages and had attack-vid mashups with millions of hits apiece.

"Number one's her shiny new Topkick," I commented. "No surprise there."

"Relatively few casualties?" Sharsky read from his own monitor. "What, wasn't she watching the news?"

No one else responded to that and I said what everyone else might have been thinking. "I don't think she was talking about humans."

A light bulb went on after a few moments and Sharsky swore under his breath. "She's been holding out on us."

That wasn't the main thing that was going through my head. "Relatively few casualties" meant that she had a way of knowing who _were_ the casualties. Or making an educated guess, at least.

"How did she know?"

...

I have always thought that one of the greatest developments of the modern world was airport wi-fi. When I was growing up, I'd have to bring books or a Walkman to entertain myself, but they would never really hold my attention for long. Combine a laptop and a wireless card and LOLcats, though, and I'd find myself wishing that I'd get snowed in.

Unfortunately, it was about 50 degrees out when I left for the airport and the skies were clear. Sam was nice enough to give me a ride. Ever since the football game, he'd been really helpful with that kind of stuff, but I wasn't complaining.

In return, I gave him some advice. "Leo's not big on family stuff," I commented. "Don't let your ma smother him too much."

"I've been trying to get her to stop smothering me for eighteen years," Sam joked. "What makes you think I can protect the Spitzmeister?"

"Good point." I fist bumped him. "Have a good holiday, man."

"You too," he said. After an awkward pause, he cleared his throat and asked, "You going to check up on the _Buzz_?"

"Yeah, but I'm not expecting much." I shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe we'll get lucky."

His car backfired and the engined idled hard for a second, shaking the whole car, and he smacked the dashboard. "Who knows," he echoed.

I checked in, got my boarding pass and got through security before I dug out my cell phone. If all had gone well, Sharsky had gotten home an hour ago and I wanted to check in.

"Yooooo," he crowed when he picked up. "There's no place like home."

"Your mom made macaroons, didn't she?" I guessed.

"A whole Tupperware just for me," he confirmed. "Absence really _does_ make the heart grow fonder."

"Good to hear," I said. "Have you checked the usual sites?"

"Nothing new from Robowarrior or BBBishot," he recited with a full mouth. "_Buzz_, nothing either."

"Take a break, eat some food, don't get crumbs in the keyboard," I advised. "I'm hooking up to wi-fi in a few and I'll keep an eye on things until we board."

I settled into the chairs between the usual screaming kid and harried businessman and extracted my latest toy from the side pocket of my backpack. I had taken care of my tech upgrades, but with the new restrictions in airport security, I had fixed the three-ounce restriction once and for all. Now I could enjoy my hip flask of Red Bull from the comfort of my terminal seat. The only drawback was that I had to ration the stuff in case I needed a buzz later.

Once I'd made sure that I had all my essentials-boarding pass, iPod, laptop and leftover pepperoni pizza-I logged into the airport's wi-fi service and shot off a text to Sharsky to let him know he was off the hook.

The _Buzz_ didn't have anything new when I checked, but it was a holiday weekend. For all I knew, Camaro76 was stuck in the airport traffic trying to get home. I took a break from the usual sites to watch some _Independence Day _on Netflix instant streaming.

The guy from Jurassic Park was just figuring out the countdown to destruction when they started boarding my flight, so I closed out of that window and was about to sign off when I decided to check the blog one last time.

Jackpot. Leo and Sam got text messages too this time, though Sam was probably just getting home so I didn't tease him with spoilers.

**

* * *

**

RUSH ORDER OF HOLIDAY SPIRIT

Anybody know where I can place a rush-order on holiday spirit? The sidekick is being a glitching grinch.

I knew the boy first. He and I go way back - even further back than he goes with any of the rest of us, including you, BeeFF. The sidekick barely knows the boy and thinks he can kick me out of the boy's life. He's practically placed a restraining order on me! I walk in on them in an inconvenient time _once _and I'm practically banished to the other side of the planet. I'm not allowed to visit uninvited unless I give five days notice or it's the end of the world – and he said _he _gets to decide what qualifies as 'end of the world.' The gall!

**Comments:**

Survivor: The boy and his sidekick are both underage for the kind of holiday 'spirit' you can put a rush order on, Camaro.

NurseRatched: Haven't we been over this once already?

BrassEagle: Yes. We have.

Spitfire: Silly Camaro, holiday spirit doesn't start until 5AM on the Friday after Thanksgiving.

Camaro76: *groan* Black Ops Friday.

Optimust: lol I'm sure The Mrs. is exaggerating, Camaro. If she really thought we were going into a war zone, she would not go, much less bring the boy along. You know how overprotective she is.

Camaro76: And her crack about us being invited as the brute squad?

NurseRatched: I'm inclined to agree with Spitfire and Camaro, Optimust. Google "Walmart Long Island Black Friday death."

Optimust: An isolated incident. The Mrs.'s invitation is probably an attempt to more fully integrate us into the clan.

BeeFF: Dream on, Optimust. She's not exaggerating, and personal safety goes out the window when the deal hunters have scented blood.

ElectricBlue: LOL Dare I ask what this 'inconvenient moment' was?

Camaro76: Let's just say they were looking at something online that they preferred I didn't see.

BeeFF: WHAT?

Camaro76: I'm positive the boy wouldn't have found that stuff on his own. The sidekick is a bad influence on him.

Faithful: He's looking at airbrushed online bimbos instead of chatting with his warrior goddess? What a loser!

Optimust: Perhaps he needs more of your influence then, Camaro, especially when it comes to his relationship with BeeFF. Your loyalty is renowned.

BikerChick: What he said.

BeeFF: Hey! Second commandment! No commenting on my relationship with the boy!

ConSlayer: [comment deleted]

NotTheToothFairy: [comment deleted]

BeeFF: BrassEagle - save my sanity here!

BrassEagle: Both accounts have been locked for the next forty-eight hours.

S&M: *neener neener neener*

Camaro76: [to Optimust] I'm doing what I can, but it wasn't _my _idea for the boy to move back in with the sidekick. If I had my way, it'd be just me and him again instead of me and him and all his _groupies_.

Optimust: I will speak with him over the break.

* * *

Shutting my laptop, I slipped it into my backpack. I'd deliberately waited until first class was boarded, along with the old folks and the people with ankle-biters, so I didn't have stand in line forever. The text replies started coming in as I was sliding sideways between people stuffing four days worth of luggage into the overhead bins.

Sam was the first to text me back. /sidekick? wonder who that is/

Alienboy had copied all three of us, and Sharsky was the first to answer. /his new live in boyfriend/

Leo quickly responded. /prbly a roommate NOT bf/

Sam shot back with, /u sure?/

/POSITIVE!/ Leo retorted.

/Cam wants 2 know who the groupies r/ Sam added after a second.

Of course he did. Mr. Lost-my-voice-in-a-football-accident Cam Romero had been almost as enthusiastic about The _Buzz_ as the rest of us. He'd gone through each post with me and Sharsky, eagerly listening to our theories and opinions. Everybody loved a good cyber-mystery. I texted, /makes it sound like the boy's a rock star/

/explains the bodyguard/ Leo answered.

Sharsky's text came at almost the same time as Leo's. /makes it sound like he's got panty-throwing fangirls moving in/

/like the playboy mansion/ I added, already envying the schmuck.

/lol/ was Sam's only reaction.

/& it explains 76's jealousy/ Leo put in.

Unfortunately, the flight attendant chose that moment to tell everyone to shut off their digital devices, and I had to wait until landing to get the rest of the conversation. /bbl/

...

We're not what you can really call demonstrative in my family. Dad picked me up with a quick hug and the third-degree about everything from classes to the possibility of a summer internship. Mom was a little more affectionate, but made me leave my sneakers in the mudroom before she'd even say hi.

For real, honest-to-God enthusiasm, I sadly had to rely on my thirteen-year-old sister. It was before dinner, so I knew she wouldn't be doing homework. That just left her room and even I feared to tread where the recent teeneybopper slept.

"NUTTY!" she squealed before waggling her fingers in my direction.

She was one of a handful of people who were allowed to know my first name at all and she'd taken it as her duty to give me a stupid nickname. It was hard to get much worse than Nadipatti, but "Nutty" was officially the reason I went by my surname. It saved embarrassment, mispronunciations and a lot of "How do you spell that"s. Plus, it added insult to injury that my parents snapped out of their Hindu phase just in time to name their second-born after a Reagan. I couldn't even go by my middle name because explaining the silent 'h' in Dhruvesh was even harder than getting a teacher to pronounce my name right. ("Nutty-putty" I always had to explain, "_not _'Naughty Potty.'")

I yanked out her left earbud and shuddered to hear that she was still addicted to Ke$ha. Once she was old enough for me to let her know the definition of cynicism, I'd introduce her to Dresden Dolls, but for now I had to put up with "Tik Tok" and her fascination with Justin Beiber the shemale wonder.

"Hey," she protested, pulling on the cord so the earbud fell out of my hand. "I was listening to that."

"Believe me, Nance, I'm doing you a favor," I said before unplugging the whole cord from her iPod. "What, I don't even get a wazzup?"

She fist-bumped me dutifully and cocked her head, sending her ponytail swinging. "Wazzuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup?"

"Good girl," I commented. "You've been practicing."

"Yeah. I had to have something to do since you email me, like, once a week to tell me to check your blog," she commented. "I even _snail-_mailed you that one time."

"And I sent you a postcard," I reminded her.

"Doesn't count. You owe me at least two pages front and back."

"Okay," I chuckled. "I'll hand-write my notes for the next Lit class and let you be bored by _Ivanhoe."_

"Send me pictures," she suggested. "I haven't seen your dorm room yet."

And, God (and Leo) willing, she never would.

"Shouldn't you be expanding your mind or something?" I asked.

"No way, man." She recrossed her ankles and sighed. "I'm not doing anything until after we've finished the leftovers."

I'd have asked for more details, but I didn't want to start pulling a Dad on her. "That's always been my policy." I plugged the earphones back into her Shuffle and waggled my fingers back. "I'll see you for dinner."

Dad had given his students the day off so they could get home for the holidays without running off the road, so he was conveniently in the office when I clomped down the stairs.

"You haven't said anything about your Literature class," he called.

Predictable. He had an hour before the chicken was ready and he was going to spend it wondering why I wasn't getting a higher grade from one of his colleagues.

"It's okay," I said noncommittally. "I told you the guy's delusional."

"If you're having a hard time understanding him, I'd be happy to go over your notes with you."

Mayday mayday mayday. It wasn't just that my notes were full of phrases like "WHAT THE EFF?" and "Screw Stevenson. Why can't we read something by Steven King?" Mostly I didn't have notes because Lit was the best place to IM Sharsky. Dad didn't need to know that my time in Lit class was mostly a time to check on my real field of study. At least I hadn't been in Lit when the Droid of Death thing broke.

"The notes aren't the problem," I said. "Didn't you get my paper on _Kidnapped?"_

"Yes," he said with a slight smile. "Your thesis was not as strong as it should have been, but I look forward to reading some of your later work from this semester."

"I'll keep a folder for you," I promised. "I've got a solid B average after the midterm."

There was no need to mention how I'd been barely scraping a C+ before the midterm. I had to love the grading curve.

"Nadipatti," Mom called from the kitchen. "Please schlep your bags upstairs. I have a big meeting on the Carter account this afternoon and your duffel bag is altering the chi in my career gua."

Typical Mom. Techie as they come, but with a streak of mysticism. My name was her fault, as was the fact that my bookshelf had _Dorm Room Feng Shui _next to _C++ for Dummies._

"Sorry," I called back. "I'll be right there."

"Good talking to you," Dad commented.

The conversation was clearly over – he had his favorite copy of _War and Peace_ out along with a stack of books that were thicker than the monster book itself. Dad could always be relied on to have something confusing and Russian on hand, whether it was a new commentary on Dostoevsky or an exchange student who was in his graduate Russian Lit seminar.

Mom was in the kitchen, of course, typing on her laptop with one hand and sauteeing onions with the other. I kissed her dutifully on the cheek and went to schlep.

"How are things with your roommate?"

"Leo?" I guessed. "They're good. We've been working hard."

"So I gathered," she commented. "I was doing some analytics on his kitten calendar site and think I should send you back with some update recommendations."

Of course she'd been doing analytics. If she even knew about , she'd tell us that our homepage was too graphics-heavy.

"Thanks."

"But I meant Sam," she added. "He had quite the adventure earlier in the semester, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but the whole thing's pretty much blown over,' I assured her. "We're trying to make his life as normal as possible. You know, parties, study groups, girls..."

"Well, I'm glad you're being such a help to him," she said. "I have a framed picture I'd like you to give him..."

"Mom, I don't think he knows" – or cares – "about guas."

"That's all right," she said after a minute of typing. "Even if the rest of his room is out of balance, having a picture of trees in that gua will strengthen the energy in his reputation gua. With all the attention he's gotten from the alien debacle, it can't hurt to give him an extra boost."

"Okay."

I couldn't just lose whatever she was going to give him. She'd call to make sure it got there in one piece and I didn't want to hurt her feelings or anything. And Sam might think it was sweet that my Mom was worrying about his reputation gua. I'd just be happy if she stopped talking feng shui for a few minutes.

"So, what's the latest with the Carter account?" I asked to change the subject. There was no way of baguaing a website for an insurance company. "You almost done with that project?"

"Should be," she replied. "The meeting at five is to make the final presentation and if they like what they see, I'll actually have the weekend off."

Maybe it was the holiday spirit, maybe they were as eager for four days off as the rest of the country, but the insurance company rubber-stamped everything Mom threw at them and they were done by quarter to six. Now it was just me and the fam. And, come Friday evening, Lian. Now _that _was something to add to my 'I'm Thankful For' list!


	18. Black Friday

Author's note: Sorry for the delay. Ish got into a fight with her coffee table and lost. Eowyn had a lot to do, such as come up with uses for all her zucchini. And since we're both Mormons, we had to take a weekend off for General Conference. Plus, let's just blame it on global warming.

...

...

...

Not like I needed it, but all that trippy stuff in turkey gave me what Mom would call restorative regeneration and Nance would call beauty sleep. I woke up on Black Friday ready to take on the world and found a collection of texts in my inbox. Leo wanted me to wear a Pussycat Dolls shirt. Sharsky thought I should try shirtless. Sam, the only one with an actual girlfriend, had no fashion sense and wanted me in a button-down and jeans.

I ignored all of the texts, but tried to compromise where their advice was concerned. Java Dave's was no place to wear chinos like my Mom wanted-I'd be laughed off the server. And with a classy girl like Lian on my arm, I wasn't going anywhere near a t-shirt that idolized scantily-clad females, no matter how hard they rocked. I dug a camo-green t-shirt out of my clean laundry, put it with a regular pair of jeans and Doc Martens to class it up. I would have given myself a splash of aftershave to make me smell unforgettable, but she had allergies and I didn't want to be that kind of unforgettable.

It was a pretty normal day. I helped Mom with the garden, let Dad argue _Ivanhoe_ with me while we drove to Best Buy and even thrashed my sister at Guitar Hero for a while. By the time I borrowed the family Ford for my evening out, I was riding high.

I was in such a good mood that I didn't even bother to check the Buzz that day. I had a date and alien invasions could wait for a coupla hours.

It was always kind of weird to see Lian in a normal social setting. I had usually seen her glowering at me across the room at an Academic Decathlon meet or when I came to see her get her ass kicked at Mathletes, but today was different. Her purse was too little to hide a graphing calculator in and she actually looked relaxed. We both looked pretty normal, which was an improvement on high school.

Well, almost normal. I was pretty sure that free wi-fi or no, I was the only one who would go for the chick typing furiously on her netbook and wearing a "I like angles to a degree" t-shirt. It almost made me wish I hadn't left my "Math Jokes: The First Sine of Madness" shirt back in the dorm.

I had entertained this fantasy where our eyes would meet across the crowded cafe and everything would go kinda fuzzy like in a TV show or something, but she didn't even look up when I was two feet away.

"Hey," I said smoothly. "Lian."

She held up a hand impatiently and went back to typing. After another handful of seconds, she hit Enter and pointed at the seat opposite her with an emphatic jab of her neon-green-polished guys would have been offended by this, but I liked my girls feisty. Me and BeeFF would have gotten along great and Lian had caught my attention because she was tough for someone who didn't clear five feet without heels.

"Hey," she finally said, still not looking up. "My server at home is all kluged up, so I got here an hour ago. I assume you've read?"

"Read?" I asked blankly.

She deftly swiveled the computer around so I could check out what she had been working on. It was no surprise to find the Buzz open-it was even a little hot that she was that addicted to my pet project-but I was shocked to find an IM window from Sharsky flashing at me.

"Ignore the message," she instructed. "Read the post."

**

* * *

BLACK FRIDAY**

Back. Alive. In only four pieces. Going to recharge. Later.

**Comments:**

Spitfire: MAN I miss the States during the holidays!

Survivor: LOL Maybe you should bring _her _as back-up next time, Camaro.

Spitfire: *echo* Where is everybody?

ConSlayer: Mostly shocked speechless at the footage Camaro and Optimust sent. ::blink::

ElectricBlue: Did she _really_ deck you, Optimust? This isn't doctored footage, right?

S&M: ['bout da vids] ooooo! Dems some new cusses! We'z gotta remember dose!

NurseRatched: I still can't believe that other driver claimed you were at fault, Camaro! She clearly swerved into you!

Optimust: The Mrs. wrote it off as the other driver being eight months pregnant. Something about hormones. The boy strongly urged that I not ask you for further elaboration, though, NR.

Spitfire: I've been pregnant, Optimust, and I _never _would have swung at you (Mr. "Six-foot six-inches and built like a truck"), much less given you a black eye like that. She was just psycho.

NotTheToothFairy: Spitfire doesn't need pregnancy hormones to be aggressive.

Survivor: Hey, that's my line!

BeeFF: Ugh. Married people. S&M aren't the only ones I can boot for violating the Two Commandments.

BrassEagle (mod): Nor is she the only one who can do it. I have to agree with Spitfire, though. That woman assaulted you, plain and simple. The next time Galloway or his ilk go questioning your intentions, I'm going to show them that footage as a Prime example of self-restraint!

Optimust: I wish you wouldn't.

Faithful: Oh-ho! So the big guy has an ego after all!

Optimust: I never claimed otherwise..

BikerChick: Hey BeeFF - can you go play with Faithful in your House of Horrors for a bit? He seems to have forgotten where he fits on the food chain.

BeeFF: Sorry, but no. He's mine to kick when _I _feel like it, thank you.

* * *

It was always nice to see a new post up, but I didn't get what about that post had her typing up a storm to my roommate.

"So he survived Black Friday," I commented. "That's good to hear."

"Weren't you paying attention at all?" she asked earnestly. "Read the comments again."

When I still gave her a semi-blank look, she reached around and commandeered the machine again. Half a minute later, I was staring at a bio. From .

Holy freak.

"Galloway," Lian drawled, practically glowing with pride. "BrassEagle's namedropping _Galloway._ BrassEagle, whoever he is, reports to the National Security Advisor."

"Jeeez," I hissed, a bit awed myself. "This is _awesome._ Are you sure it isn't another Galloway?"

"BrassEagle has to be a CO and with friends that far up, I'm guessing he's not a General's nephew or something like that. This is frigging proof that the conspiracy goes all the way up."

If this had been a really weird rom-com, I could have kissed her in the heat of that moment, but this was a first date and we knew each other from AcDec, so we just glowed awkwardly at each other. This was like finding out that Nixon was behind the Watergate burglaries. Years in the future, when we were known for busting this conspiracy wide open, we would tell our kids about how it all started on the night of our first...

Dude, I had to get a grip. All we knew was that one of the mods MAYBE knew someone who worked in the White House. And no matter how well they were connected and why they had a drill sergeant for a mod, we had no real evidence that these people were linked to the invading aliens. Problem was, for all our theories, we didn't know how they were linked. All we had right now was puzzle pieces. I resolved right then and there to prove myself by making all the pieces fit.

"Sorry," she said as if following my train of thought. "I got a little carried away."

"It's okay," I replied. "This kind of...well, hell, this is pretty much the coolest year I've ever had."

"No kidding," Lian squeaked as she always did when excited. "It's so awesome the way you took control when the Droid of Death thing broke. You were handling it a lot better than the government and..." She cracked a grin. "It made me proud to work with you."

God, now I wasn't sure whether to get choked up or a little aroused. I definitely wanted to hold her hand.

"We couldn't have done it without you," I said earnestly. "We would have never gotten into the whole Buzz thing if you hadn't cracked the code and you worked around the clock when the world went to hell."

"It was the least I could do." She swished her espresso with a twizzle stick. "You should probably order."

Right. I was supposed to actually be here for sustenance.

I didn't like leaving her alone in a place like this-geeks were animals when getting a caffeine fix-but she was right. I had just been putitng it off. If Sam, Leo and Sharsky were bad about the wardrobe, they were damn-near intolerable about what I should order. Leo thought I should get as much espresso as my bladder could tolerate so I could be on edge and look manly. Sharsky thought I should be sensitive but not too femmy, so a caramel macchiato was the way to go. Sam thought I should get whatever she was getting, but no way was I sipping a cappuccino in front of Lian. I compromised and got something low-key enough to keep me from going through the ceiling and strong enough that I didn't look like a wimp: cocoaccino. I waited until I was back at the table, though, before I pulled out my secret ingredient.

I winked at Lian and popped the top off a Red Bull. "Shhh."

"Pass that over here," she instructed once I'd finished spiking my manly hot cocoa.

I felt a rush of affection for her. Rival high school or not, she was my kind of girl. We passed it back and forth until the can was empty and by that time, she'd put the computer away. I took that to be a good sign; Sharsk couldn't interfere and she was into _me._ This was all good.

"So, what happened?"

I blinked over my chocolate sprinkles and set my cup down. "What happened to what?"

"Come on," she urged. "You were all gung-ho about everything Mission City in September. You all were. Now it's like you've lost your focus."

"Lost our focus?" I practically squeaked. "Leo's got a C average in one class because this stuff is all we can talk about."

"Yeah, the _Buzz_," she corrected, "but I haven't heard a peep about actual aliens since October. What's up with that?"

"The _Buzz is _connected," I asserted, feeling slightly ridiculous at the moment. I was getting schooled. On a first date. By a 4'9" _mathlete._ "We just haven't figured out..."

"Well, obviously, some of them are human," she said as if I hadn't spoken.

I had stopped my sentence on the word _how_ and now I forgot the rest of my reasoning. She had just said the weirdest thing I'd heard since learning that the pedophile was a Trouts fan.

"You think some of them _aren't?"_

She gave me a slightly withering look that made me wish I'd gone with what Leo had suggested. I liked being awestruck by her, but this was starting to get slightly embarrassing.

"Come on," she said. "They don't know about Valentine's Day. They thought ID4 was a documentary. What the heck about this ISN'T alien?"

"It's a government-filtered blog," I pointed out. "I have a pretty hard time believing that instead of learning wonderful technology and deadly weapons from our alien friends, the White House is telling them to update their Facebook status."

"Eclectic obsession with local culture."

It wasn't deadpan. It was completely serious. And strangely enough, it made some sense. Especially given their fixation on holidays. It was like little kids who wanted to sing dreidl songs _and "_Santa Claus is Coming to Town" no matter if they actually practiced a religion. And sometimes Survivor, Spitfire and BeeFF sounded more like their translators than their friends.

"Or stress relief," I suggested. "They have to kick back a little after saving the world."

She let out a squeak of her own and jabbed a finger at her laptop. "Pre-Party Heads Up," she announced. "That sounds exactly like what they were doing."

"And it was right after the Droid of Death thing," I agreed. "Dude, this is huge."

"Glad I could help," Lian gloated. "Do you want to call this in?"

Her hand had dipped into the laptop pocket of her backpack and that jolted me back to reality. I had gotten carried away, started slipping into hacker mode and forgotten why I was here. If the _Buzz_ killed my GPA _and_ my love life, I would have to swear off alien conspiracy theories for at least a week out of spite.

"Nah," I said smoothly. "Tell me about your applications."

...

In spite of our momentary distraction, the rest of the date was frigging awesome. It didn't feel like the right time to kiss her, but we set a date for our next, well, _date_. We were going to get together on Boxing Day and show off our new Christmas gadgets. Maybe even catch a movie after dinner.

I was so giddy at that whole situation that I ignored six calls. Most of them were from Sharsky, but the last one was from Leo.

"Yo," I greeted him once he picked up.

"Hey, lover-boy," he teased. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," I said cheerfully. "I'm on my way back home."

"Good," Leo said shortly. "Imma call Lian, see if she can do us a service."

"A service?" I echoed. "I checked the _Buzz _at Java Dave's. Ain't nothing there."

"Check again," he said. "We got video."

It was lucky that I hit a red light at that point because I promptly forgot how to drive. "Friggin' A!" I crowed. "Is it good?"

"It better be," he growled. "The dang thing's encrypted. But if we can crack in, we can probably get some real footage of these guys."

"Go for it," I egged him on. "FTJ on all of that. And while you're on the phone with Lian, ask her about 'Pre-Party Heads Up.' We made a breakthrough over coffee."

"You slick dude," Leo said approvingly. "That probably sent you a few notches up on the macho scale."

Yeah, it would have, if it hadn't all been her idea.

"Go call her," I insisted. "The sooner we crack this the better."

Mom gave me the compulsory third-degree but after ten minutes of questions, she had to take a business call and I fled to the safety of my room. Sure enough, there was a new post with a video link between the narrative and the comments section. On a whim, I started trying out possible passwords. They had gone with an encrypt key before, so maybe this would be something lower-key. But "BeeFFishot," "Ilovebikerchick," "Takemetoyourleader" and "w3r31i3nz" didn't work, which was kind of a relief. If they'd been dumb enough to set it to that, I wouldn't have wanted to keep reading.

After about an hour of trying various things, I finally gave up and got around to reading the actual blog post.

**

* * *

BLACK AND BLUE FRIDAY**

Sorry about that - it took some doing to piece myself back together. But the down time and recovery made me reflect on some of the deeper questions of existence. Things like what holiday pay plus combat hazard pay plus my regular fee would come to. I shared my reflections with the sidekick - he says $79.27 an hour (he had already calculated it). He also said that he'd better be getting "one hell of a Christmas bonus" or he's quitting as soon as the holidays are over. (jk, I think)

So yeah, we made the mistake of hitting four different big-box stores in only a two hour window of time, total. And Optimust thought parking was hard to find on a NORMAL day! He had to go native with the truckers behind the store. With the first store, we got in there okay - no lethal stampede this year, thankfully - and assumed flank positions on either side of the boy. Things were going just fine until we got to the menswear section. They were selling jeans for $3 a pair and a riot broke out. We managed to keep the boy out of danger, but the Mrs. started throwing elbows and we had to peel a couple of teenagers off of her.

After that, we took the boy's advice and shadowed her instead.

By now I'm sure _everyone _has seen what happened when we left the final store. I'm following the marked parking lot flow of traffic, and that woman in the white minivan just plowed into me. I'm recovering pretty well - no need for you to visit, NurseRatched, though if you're _really _worried, you could send a certain field medic to check on me. But really, it was more a shock than anything - I mean, I've never been in a wreck like that before - but the shock was just beginning. I've never heard _anyone _swear like that before, not even NurseRatched. And then when Optimust tried to diffuse the situation - WHAM! - she hauled off and punched him in the face. I'm beginning to see that the sidekick's "holiday spirit" was right on track. Ugh.

On the bright side, though, I found this GREAT footage while nursing my wounds. [click here] Finally - proof that he really is an alien! Especially when he slips into his native tongue, I just about died. Enjoy!

**Comments:**

ElectricBlue: That. Is. AWESOME!

NurseRatched: Typical. Why do these things always make the aliens look like idiots?

Camaro76: And of course that footage was repressed from distribution. It's a conspiracy, I tell you!

Survivor: *snigger* Obviously.

BeeFF: Now remember what we talked about, Camaro.

Camaro76: I know, I know. It's not just the Spielberg ones. Still, you've got to admit he's alien.

BeeFF: lol Okay, I'll grant you that.

Spitfire: Native tongue? All right, guys and gals, what's he _really_ saying?

ConSlayer: He wants in on the next international ping pong tournament. _Obviously_.

S&M: Naw, he wuz sayin' he wants dat liposuction thingy.

BikerChick: Where the Pit would they do the suction? That alien has less fat on him than I do! As for a check-up, forget it, Camaro. You don't even need a Band-aid.

Faithful: You guys obviously are slack on your intergalactic linguistics. That bit about "dingle dangle" was him giving her encoded instructions on how to keep his watch thingy maintained.

NotTheToothFairy: You're all wrong. He was saying that something was going to blow up soon.

* * *

Jackpot! What was the saying - when one door closes, a window opens? BBBisHot may have dried up with footage, but it looked like Camaro might come through for us after all. I just had to hack the effing vid.

Sharsky texted me. /Think Lian can break it?/

Like hell! I had some masculine pride to maintain. Oh gawd, did I really just quote NtTF? Still, it was true. To Sharsky, I sent, /Let's not bug her. I got it./ After the mental butt-kick my little mathlete had given me tonight, I had some serious ground to make up.

...

...

...

Authors' Endnote: To see what everyone's commenting on, go to YouTube and search for "Doctor Who deleted scene (series 3) - Strange Noises with My Mouth"


	19. Welcome Aboard

The next morning, I waited until it was a decent hour for all of us and then sent out a group email, subject "Revelations." Leo and Sam were an hour ahead and uncharacteristically awake before noon, so I got a call from Spitz less than five minutes later.

"Hey," he grunted, sounding like he was forcing himself to be awake for this conversation. "Is this for real?"

"Just speculations," I said, "but after all that coffee last night, I got to thinking and that's what I came up with."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that."

Okay, so I hadn't really spell-checked and some of my ramblings and thoughts about the secret identities of the Buzzers were a little manic, but Leo wouldn't have called if he didn't think there was some merit to them.

"So, what do you think?" I asked eagerly.

"I think we might be on to something," he commented. "Me and Sam are going to do a little org charting, see if we can expand on some of your theories. We'll meet on Sunday night to put it all together."

"Got it," I said. "I'll start pulling videos to back it up."

"Good call." He muttered something incoherent to someone out of my hearing range and from the long pause, I guessed it was Sam. "I'll get Sharsky in on it..."

"If he's awake," I interjected. "He probably hasn't even seen the email."

"He works fast," Leo answered. "If he wants in, he'll have to. Call me if you have any other flashes of inspiration."

Sharsky texted me three hours later for more info, but his coherence levels didn't seem too high, so I told him to go back to bed and ask for marching orders tonight.

Mom insisted on calling me down for lunch in the middle of my hard work, but she wasn't like my roomies. She didn't understand the idea of living off Pringles and Red Bull until work was done.

"My goodness," she commented a little too casually. "You've been hard at work."

"I guess," I said once I'd eaten half my grilled cheese in two bites. "You need my help or something?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Thanks."

I stuffed the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and bolted for the sink. Mom showed the reflexes of a ninja and cut me off as I turned to make a break for the stairs.

"Not so fast," she said sharply. "We haven't seen you in almost three months and the least you can do is make some small talk about how things are going."

"Mom," I said in exasperation, "we've been doing that since Wednesday. I've got a paper due on Monday and I want to..." I paused to muster a good excuse. "I want to have tomorrow free for some quality family time."

Mom arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Mm-hmm," she sighed. "What's the paper on."

"Comp Sci," I said. "I need to figure out how to write about HTML without sounding like an overconfident douchebag."

"Well, then I can help you with that," she announced.

"That's really not nece-"

"It's very nece," Mom corrected. "If your emails are anything like your papers, you need all the help you can get."

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I shifted to the other leg, probably looking like I needed to pee. "Well, can we look at the draft once I'm done? I'm kinda in the zone."

"I don't see how," Mom responded. "Your chi has to be blocked with all that crap you've got in your education gua. And the dual monitors are crowding your energy. Bring your stuff down on a flash drive and you can borrow my laptop."

Great. Now I not only had to write a completely fictitious paper, but I had to do it with adult supervision. It was like being grounded, only more annoying. Absence made the heart grow fonder and I was officially ready to test that theory again.

"Cool," I said with as much enthusiasm as I could manage. "Don't you have to drop Nancy off at Cassidy's?"

She checked her watch immediately. "Right," she said. "Get set up down here, no peeking at the Christmas lists and I'll be back to answer any questions you have in thirty minutes."

My phone buzzed again and I forced a smile. "Thanks, Mom."

I finally edged around her and took the stairs two at a time. As soon as I'd gotten to the safety of my room, I flipped my phone open and called Leo back.

"Talk fast," I ordered without bothering with a 'hello.' "I've got half an hour tops before Mom expects me to be working on homework."

"What homework?"

"I got it covered," I said. "I've got an old paper for Compsci I can pretend needs major revisions. What's up?"

"I got Sharsky on board with this," Leo announced. "He's in charge of Survivor's military record. How's the vid-pulling?"

"I'm on it," I promised. "How's the org chart?"

"You'll see tomorrow," he said. "Enjoy your HTML."

There was a little too much snark in his voice for me to think he wasn't enjoying my pain, but he was spending the weekend with Alienboy's druggie yuppie parents. I'd go easy on him.

When Mom was finally satisfied that I wasn't trying to flunk out, I got back to checking vids.  
It was pretty much a waste of time, since we had all the archive footage we could ever want from the early days of realeffingdeal(.)com, but I started cataloguing cars in all of the videos and sifting the stills into groups based on possible aliases. I couldn't be sure that the bloggers were the same as the aliens in the videos or that there weren't more robots just hanging out as SUVs and watching the show.

I had just classified a Mission City Harley as a candidate for BikerChick when an IM window popped up from Sharsky. It had to be bad news. I hadn't seen him type FTJ fifty times in a row since he'd gotten home from class to find our dorm room looking like Ground Zero. Even worse, Leo and Sam joined us in the chat window.

Leo: Dude, what's up? Did you forget to take your meds again?  
Sharsky: DUDE, don't dude me. Isn't anyone watching CNN?  
Sam: Do we ever?  
Leo: Word.  
Sharsky: SOMEONE turn on a TV.  
Fassbinder: No can do, bro. Mom will want to know why I'm not working on my paper.  
Sam: Oh, this is NOT good.  
Sharsky: See what I mean? Like hell that was a meteor! Binder, you still on vid duty?  
Fassbinder: I'll c/c the vids from two years ago, see if there's any connection.  
Leo: There has to be one. What kind of meteorite hits the frigging LUXOR? It has to be an alien.  
Fassbinder: I'll keep an eye on our international channels, too. No telling if they're spreading out.  
Leo: Right. If anything bigger than a pencil falls from the sky in the next 24, I wanna know about it. Me entiendes?  
Fassbinder: Got it, boss.  
Sam: I'll park on the blog, see if they have anything to say about it.  
Leo: Good call. Binder, call me if you have anything major to report. Sharsky, good call, mijo.  
Sharsky: Thanks, dude. I'm out.

I wired in and spent the next few minutes watching the 'breaking news' from Las Vegas. Mostly CNN alternated between amateur cellphone footage of a huge ball of fire smashing into the Luxor Hotel and an affiliate reporter on the ground talking about all the things they didn't know - where the meteorite came from, how many were killed, how many were injured. This was why mainstream sucked - it was all just idiots with ear pieces standing around waiting for someone to tell them something. I mean, _it came from the sky. _How hard is that to say? Just point up and state, "It was a space rock that fell from space." Or better yet, make an educated guess along the lines of, "This happened three months ago and the world almost ended, so duck and cover."

It was times like this that convinced me conspiracies existed. Either someone was keeping intelligent people from asking questions, or your average reporter was too stupid to master the fine art of breathing in and out. Since CNN's 'man on the street' hadn't keeled over dead yet, then he had to be babbling on, reporting on what we don't know, in fear of his life or something. Ignoring the poor schmuck who was obviously owned by somebody, I focused on getting some prime stills off the newsfeed.

And then I went to work. It's not easy being a human Google image search, but it's what I do best. I have the eyes of a hawk and by the time Mom turned up to lecture me about getting eight hours of restorative sleep, I had connected the image not to Mission City, but a strange astronomical sighting in 1946. Figuring out where that trail would lead next would have to wait until morning.

Morning didn't turn out how I planned, though. Mom had heard me claim that I wanted quality time on my last day home and she had everything from family yoga to a trip to Circuit City after brunch. Lucky for me she wasn't experimenting with any religions, so I didn't have to sit through church, but I did have to put in time worshiping the guas by helping her rearrange furniture in Dad's office. He was in the process of applying to run a study abroad and she wanted to improve the chi in a few of his career and relationship guas.

By the time I got around to even looking at my own computer, it was after three and I had several unheeded text messages, probably from Sharsky. Leo and Sam seemed to be more inclined to keep the vacation going, but my man Sharsky was getting lonely and when he was lonely, he was fidgety. I decided to let absence make the heart grow fonder and drag him out for pizza and a bad action-geek movie when we got back. It wasn't his fault that I had a girlfriend, Sam and Leo had each other to hang out with and he was stuck trying to entertain himself in Podunk, USA. Maybe I'd even send him some funny Youtube for the ride home.

Those thoughts aside, I checked the texts. All from Sharsky, all of them saying "WTF?" I thought that was his way of crying out for help or smacking me for not paying attention until I pulled up the _Buzz_ to check their take on the Luxor crisis.

**

* * *

**

WELCOME ABOARD

Apparently word of my little corner of cyberspace has spread, and BrassEagle has approved the addition of several new users. So please welcome my long-time friend LadiesMan217, his buddy IncidentalSidekick, Survivor's right-hand man BringTheRain, and our old acquaintance OneManAlone (of Hoover Dam and Giza fame).

**Comments:**

BeeFF: What's the deal, letting all this riff-raff in? Especially that LadiesMan. Sounds like a total player to me. )

LadiesMan217: Whatever, BeeFF. How come YOU were invited to this site almost two years before me?

BeeFF: He was playing favorites.

Camaro76: The blog was her idea.

LadiesMan217: Still no excuse. This is me, giving you _both _the silent treatment.

BeeFF: You're such a girl!

LadiesMan217: -

Camaro76: So, BeeFF, wanna hook up over break? I'm sure the boy's brother can keep an eye on him.

LadiesMan217: HEY!

BikerChick: *snigger*

S&M: Yo! IncidentalSidekick! Long time, no see!

IncidentalSidekick: Yo, S&M! Glad to hear you're still both in one piece.

Survivor: Do I detect a hint of sarcasm there?

IncidentalSidekick: If they're in one piece, they're an easier target.

S&M: Says you, byotch!

BeeFF: Behave yourself, Incidental, or I'm cutting off your access. And maybe a couple of other things.

ElectricBlue: Who invited OneManAlone?

Optimust: Welcome, BringTheRain, LadiesMan. Good to have you both in the loop. BrassEagle felt it would be best for OneManAlone to have a safe, highly-encrypted, and above all _obscure_ outlet. Likewise with IncidentalSidekick.

OneManAlone: Thanks for the warm welcome. :P

Camaro76: All things considered, Mr. Let's-see-what-happens-if-we-do-_this_-to-the-bodyguard, be grateful 'slighted' is all you're feeling.

LadiesMan217: (to BeeFF and Camaro) SERIOUSLY! What else have you two been up to behind my back?

Camaro76: Well if you're talking to us again, you're welcome to tag along and find out. There's this great car wash in Kansas. Midway…

BeeFF: Aw, come on, Camaro. Make him suffer a little longer. You're too nice.

Faithful: Can I come, too?

LadiesMan217: NO! (And _he_ got invited before I did?)

BeeFF: His name says it all.

NotTheToothFairy: About time they let you in, BringTheRain!

Spitfire: Ditto, NtTF! Glad to have you aboard, BtR.

NurseRatchet: Welcome!

BringTheRain: Thanks, guys! It's great to be included.

Survivor: Word to the wise, BtR, opt in to the text-message updates or you'll always be the last to comment. And welcome!

* * *

It took me a few minutes of staring blankly at the screen before I flipped open my phone and sent back an understanding "WTF." Sharsky immediately called.

"I know! I know!" he said brusquely. "End of the world and they're talking about hookups and hanging out with a brother. It's like something off of Failbook!"

"Or _Jersey Shore," _I teased. He had a Snooki fetish but claimed he watched the show to understand Italian-American culture. "This was posted, what, four hours..."

"Six minutes and thirty-two seconds after the Luxor," he supplied in the frenetic way that let me know he'd downed a whole can of Red Bull before hitting the talk buttton. "Why the eff are they the only ones who haven't noticed the alien invasion?"

"One possible..." I was cut off by a beep and I checked the ID. Leo. "Hold on, Leo's trying to get in. Wanna conference?"

"FTJ, FTJ, FTJ," he ordered.

I was definitely getting him some Benadryl and a girlfriend when I got back. Not necessarily in that order. I hit the talk button.

"You saw it?" Leo asked brusquely.

"Sharsky's on the other line," I explained. "You want in?"

"Nah. I got some stuff to cover on this end."

Translation: he wanted to make sure we were on the job, but there was a _chica en fuego_ in his _seis. _If I kept him too long, he'd start trying to sound like a guy getting his MBA.

"I think there isn't much we can do until we get back," I pointed out. "I'll see you at the dorm tonight, aight?"

"Aight," he echoed. "Hey, Karen. It is Karen, right? Marilyn. _Disculpame_, _linda." _

And then he was off. I switched back to Sharsky.

"What time's your flight leave?"

"Three hours," he answered.

"I can wrap up the family obligations by then," I assured him. "I'll cover you until I'm in the air and see you at the dorm."

"Wait," Sharsky protested. "What about Leo?"

"He said it can wait until we get back," I relayed. "Don't sweat it."

I spent another ten minutes staring at the computer screen, since we'd hacked into a bank security cam by the Luxor and could check out all the action. For all I knew, though, the tourists taking pictures of the smoking pyramid were blocking out the alien invasion, but those guys didn't tend to be tiny. I was pretty sure _someone_ would start screaming if they saw something moving in the rubble.

Maybe the bloggers weren't caring about the extra-terrestrial destruction of a commercial monument for a good reason. Maybe it was nothing more than a freak rock from the sky.

I still left the recorder running when I went to pick up Nancy from her soccer game, though.


	20. The End

Authors' note: What happens when, after 6 months and 3 weeks of neglecting a story, the whole Botosphere gets together and eats trifle, drinks cocoa and then decides to round-robin? Well, this! It's worse than us on drugs, but we had a lot more fun than usual putting this all together on Googledocs. Thanks to all of you who have been pestering us for updates! And be sure to check out our new site, the Botosphere yahoo group, a link to which can be found on the profile. Belated happy birthday to everyone born between October and now, Happy New Year, Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Eid Mubarrak, Happy Valentine's Day and May the Fourth be with you.

...

...

...

Mom sent me off with the usual mix of turkey and tofurkey, vitamin supplements and feng shui recommendations. It was a shame that nothing in the TSA regulations forbade what she packed up, but I obediently ate the packed lunch of soynut butter and homemade jelly sandwich and celery sticks. As soon as I hit my layover in O'Hare, I found the nearest Pizza Hut and got some real food and checked the _Buzz._

Still nothing. These guys were either having the longest nap of anyone or were just getting lazy. Were they _ever _going to notice that the world was ending - _AGAIN_? Where were they, Antarctica?

The worst part was being cut off from the servers. I managed to throw Mom off the scent by pretending I was still working on that paper for a couple of hours while trolling for vids, but eventually she hauled me off for another round of family bonding. I texted Leo to hand that off to him, but I guess the servers got neglected then. The site crashed twice between Sunday brunch and our shopping trip to a spiritually-enlightened book store. (I barely escaped before my chakras were aligned.) Lian didn't have Sam's number to tell him to reboot the servers, so the site stayed down until she caught Leo on IM and yelled at him in all caps to push the effing silver button already.

Mom's supplements must have done something, since I fell asleep with my complimentary peanuts half-eaten and my Dr. Pepper untouched. I woke up in time to drain it like a shot and then hand the can to the stewardess, but I couldn't believe I was burned out enough to catch some z's.

I was effing ecstatic to see Sam and his pimped-out ride, which definitely meant I'd been away too long.

"Hey," he said casually. "Have a netbook."

He passed over his own computer and judging from the fact that Mr. Touch-my-Pop-Tarts-and-DIE was letting me handle his tech, I had a strong suspicion that the world HAD ended while other people were being bored by the in-flight movie.

"Thought you'd want to know," was all he said.

The Buzz was pulled up and I practically had an aneurysm pop just thinking about what I'd missed, right there and then.

* * *

**THE END**

So yeah, things are heating up again. The Luxor, Big Ben, and now Gibraltar. The conspiracy nuts are all excited, sure that this is further proof of an alien invasion, while the official story is meteorites. Of course, most people fall somewhere in between with more questions than answers.

In light of all these iconic landmarks biting the dust, the burning question in my mind is: Where is it safe to play tourist anymore? Seriously! What's next? Yellowstone blowing its top? Death Valley shoreline? Spice Girls world tour? Is the new staycation the antique bomb-shelter in the back yard? It's the end of vacations as we know it!

So, poll for the day: with the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Yule/"Winter" break coming up, what's _your_safest holiday destination?

**Comments:**

BeeFF: Grandma's house. Get her started on The Family Legacy and you lose the will to live, much less get up to anything.

Ladiesman217: Get Mom started on the eggnog and you lose the will to see the resulting damage. Can I come to your house?

Camaro76: How about you and I go on a road trip? It's been years since I saw a plastic Santa next to a cactus.

BringTheRain: The safest holiday destination is also the most boring. As one who has been "invited" (ie, commanded) to attend a family reunion where the highlight is a _chess tournament_, I vote for meteorites any day.

NotTheToothFairy: Is there anyplace on this dustball where you can't get muddy?

Survivor: BrassEagle's office?

BrassEagle (mod): Not. A. Chance.

ElectricBlue: LOL You know, you need to get in touch with your organic side...

BrassEagle (mod): The wife's into wheatgrass. That's as organic as I'm getting, thank you very much.

Ladiesman217: And here I was wondering what to get you for Christmas.

BrassEagle (mod): Is that a hint?

Survivor: Or a threat?

Spitfire: Anybody who guesses their Secret Santa is gettin' nuthing for Christmas.

Survivor: Uh-oh. Mommy and Daddy are mad.

Spitfire: Only if you're nuthing but bad. *wink*

Survivor: I put a tack on OneManAlone's chair, somebody snitched on me.

BeeFF: ...huh?

BrassEagle (mod): Damn generation gap.

OneManAlone: (to Survivor) Watch it!

NurseRatched: And what exactly is the problem with "wheatgrass"? It seems a rather beneficial substance.

BringTheRain: So are brussel sprouts, but you don't want them stuffing your stocking.

Survivor: Remember that time we had to fuel up and the closest available station only had biofuels? It's pretty much like that.

NotTheToothFairy: Biogas-methane based. It's made from the fermentation of organic matter! It was horrible.

NurseRatched: _That_is what your mate is into, BrassEagle?

BikerChick: Wait, you're on meth? That makes _so_much sense.

Faithful: Not really. It don't do _nothin' _for me. Way overrated.

ConSlayer: Nothing does anything for a glitch like you. That's what 'hopeless' means.

Ladiesman217: You gave him methane? I thought he was on lighter fluid until he shaped up.

BeeFF: I thought you were joking.

IncidentalSidekick: The boy don't got enough personality to be Leno.

Ladiesman217: It's the pipsqueak. I'm never joking.

IncidentalSidekick: Word.

Ladiesman217: Hey! I have a _great _sense of humor.

BeeFF: He doesn't know what QED means.

OneManAlone: And you do? God, public schools are better than I thought.

S&M: We don' know what da QED mean.

Camaro76: You don't know what discretion means. QED is never going on your vocab list.

BeeFF: Where's Optimust?

IncidentalSidekick: Hangover?

ElectricBlue: What exactly happened with the boy's family, again?

Ladiesman217: Naw, he's in transit just like everybody else.

Camaro76: Must be slag to get him through airport security.

BeeFF: Why? If Faithful can make it, the boss can.

BikerChick: Damn profiling.

BrassEagle (mod): *snort*

Survivor: This is EXACTLY why we take military transport. There are some things that should never go through a metal detector and most of our crew fits that description.

S&M: QED!

NurseRatched: WHO turned their internet back on?

OneManAlone: Probably, the same brainless who let Sidekick on here.

BrassEagle (mod): If you're talking trash about BeeFF, get a flame-retardant shield and run for your life. If you're 'dissing' me, save it for next time. This thread is now closed. Back to work.

* * *

I blinked, reread and then shook my head like I was trying to get water off my brain. "...Da hell?" I wondered.

"QED," Sam replied, and his car backfired.

The car stalled, backfired several times and, at a kick from Sam, roared to life once more.

"Word," I agreed firmly.


	21. Chicas en Fuego

Authors' Note: We're back! Run in terror if you can speak passable (or better) Spanish, because this post is going to make you twitch. :) Ish would like to apologize to and thank Eowyn's husband, her parents and several Spanish teachers who made this semi-premeditated and cold-blooded murder of the Spanish tongue possible. And this time, we can blame the crack on malt, not trifle.

...

...

...

I wasn't the crying type. Not at funerals, not at weddings, not even when Call of Duty sold out before I could even get in the door. But I was coming pretty damn close today.

"A C+?" I blurted out.

"Bear in mind," the teacher announced while the rest of my classmates sniggered, "that this reflects your cumulative work up to the final. If you are satisfied with my eternal wisdom, bow down and I'll see the worthy next semester. If not, please visit my office to schedule an appointment to either dispute or retrieve a final review sheet."

Before I could speak again, he added, "And bear in mind that disputing it will likely drop your grade for your impudence."

It was like the bastard read my mind.

"Ah, Mr. Spielberg..."

"Fassbinder," I corrected.

He gave me a significant look and snapped his briefcase shut. "I have six hours available. I suppose you'll be wasting all of them."

If I wanted to pull a B- out of this, I was going to have to shut up and play submissive student. There was about an ice cube's chance in Texas of that happening, but he had no case.

"Come with me," he said with mock resignation.

He took a seat in his office chair like a judge taking the bench and took his own good time looking for something-a Bic, it turned out-before looking up.

"You may make your opening statement," he said mildly.

I opened my mouth to say something brilliant, but practically bawled, "A C+?"

"A C+," he confirmed.

"I don't believe in C+. Not unless it's followed by another +."

"Clever," he commented. "But a C+ you have earned."

"Look up my papers," I ordered. "IIRC..."

"IIRC?"

For a compsci prof, he knew nothing about netspeak. "If I recall correctly," I corrected, "my papers have never been graded below a 96. Read the grades!"

"Read the syllabus."

"I did!"

It was true, I'd used it to check how often I could ditch without flunking the attendance part and which lectures would involve a lot of overheads and therefore nap times.

"Did you ever get to the grading breakdown?"

"I know that those papers..."

"Are the only reason you are not getting a D," he interrupted. "Here, let me put it in a powerpoint."

I tried to protest, but he held up a hand and then went back to typing. Then he turned his monitor against me and I saw more graphics than he'd used all semester to enhance a single sentence fragment.

"Class participation: 20%."

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh dear god.

But.

Oh.

"I participate," I said faintly.

"Announcing alien invasions doesn't count."

"But..."

"Or correcting my code."

"And..."

"Or hitting on the TA."

"I didn't..." I stopped short. "There was a TA?"

"Yes," he said, smirking. "She was the one asking why you never came on Thursdays."

Telling him that she'd have been much more successful if she didn't sound like a hooker wouldn't help.

"Still not convinced there was a TA. You sure she's..."

"Cami."

"_Cami?"_Out of sheer instinct, I resorted to sign language.

He glowered even harder. "She is a graduate student in applied mathematics." He imitated my hourglass gesture. "Yes."

"Cami," I repeated blankly. "I thought she was hitting on me."

"No, she was doing her job."

He smirked quite a bit more and then turned his monitor back. He did enough typing to book me a flight to Ghana and then looked up.

"Is that all?"

"I don't know," I challenged, grasping at straws. "Is it?"

He sighed and checked his watch. I could practically hear the other dissed students banging on the door. "Look, Mr. Fassbinder," he sighed. "I'll be merciful on the following conditions. First, you don't expect anything higher than a B."

"B keeps me from a straitjacket over Christmas," I pointed out. "Or being sent to Kaplan for a refresher course."

"Second," he continued, unmoved. "The next time you enter my presence, it will be at my request, not because of registration."

Being banned from having to be terminally bored? I could live with that.

"Done," I said. "

"And third..."

*****  
"You. Ditched. Me."

"Come on, my little co-dependent friend," I soothed. "You can walk across campus unmolested."

"Forget molesting," Sharsky protested. "Me, you, a gallon of Dew a piece. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"I was only ten minutes late."

"Talk to the hand."

"Don't be like that." It was like dealing with Nancy. "Come on. I'll buy you an extra twenty-ounce as a peace offering."

"Can't buy me love."

I would have continued this fascinating conversation, but Leo suddenly snarled "Sacachupanga!" and sunk into a sulk. Even for him, that was weird.

"Um?" I said intelligently.

"Hijo de..."

"Watch it," I warned. I knew enough Spanglish to know the good cusses and he wasn't getting away with that one. "Use your words."

"Buzz," he growled.

That was enough to bring any conversation to a close, but Sharsky blocked my way as I headed for my comp. "Okay," he said. "WHY were you ten minutes late?"

"Langstraad tried to give me a C+."

This time, Leo got out the whole cuss and I didn't stop him. He was one.

"I hope you were detained for assault and battery."

"Hell no, man," I drawled. "It's all cool."

"C+ ain't cool, mijo," Leo said sternly.

"Hell to the no. I got it up to a B in five minutes flat."

"Niiiiiiiiice," Sharsky said appreciately.

"I stood up to the man and told him no way were my mad skills getting a C+ for knowing more in third grade than he'd learned in grad school."

"QED," Leo sniggered.

"And I told him he was way off-base."

"Booyah," Sharsky encouraged.

"And then he made me agree to file papers for the rest of the semester."

"Oh."

"Oh."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Thwarting the man was kinda canceled out by being someone's executive assistant.

"But a B," Sharsky said. "Way to kick ass."

"Damn right," I agreed. "I fought the law and the law compromised."

Leo made a whipping noise, then beckoned me closer. "Buzz," he repeated. "You gotta check this crack."

I'd usually needed a few readthroughs to assimilate everything I read, but this was the first time I'd blinked, squinted, scratched my head and searched for babelfish.

* * *

**UNIVERSIDAD DE CHICAS EN FUEGO**

Pues, me di cuenta hoy que hay tantas muchachas calientes en este campo. ¡Hay tantos guapas que debemos llamar la escuela La Universidad De Chicas En Fuego! En el edificio del nino solamente, hay cincuenta y cinco chicas en fuego. No te molesta, BeeFF, el nino no esta buscando a las otras chicas.

El edificio del nino tiene tantos chicas en fuego que necesito preguntar: ¿Hay un conspiracion? ¿Un combinacion de secretos? ¿Y porque? ¿Son los enemigos tratando mandar una otra Travezura a cazar el nino? ¿Y quien es la Travezura? ¿Cami Rawlins? ¿Puede el guardian de corps besa ella en esta vez? ¿Que piensen ustedes?

**Comments:**

BikerChick: Did you _seriously _just say there are 55 girls in heat in the boy's dorm?

Ladiesman217: (to Incidental Sidekick) He's mocking you...isn't he.

BringTheRain: English, dude! English!

Survivor: Spanglish, man, Spanglish!

IncidentalSidekick: You ain't getting nothing from me for Kwanzaa.

Camaro76: Dios mio! Que caliente las ninas!

IncidentalSidekick: Dios mio! Do you wanna end up squashed into a tin can, paizano?

BeeFF: Play nice, boys. Keep it up and ain't none of you getting nothing for Kwanzaa.

IncidentalSidekick: You're sexy when you're ghetto.

Survivor: *Smack*

Ladiesman217: Beat me to it.

S&M: QED.

NurseRatched: Camaro76, as an expert on the matter, you talk Spanish like a confused 9th grader.

Camaro76: Thanks!

S&M: Exactly how many confused 9th graders do you know NurseRatched?

IncidentalSidekick: ROFL!

NotTheToothFairy: QED.

Survivor: Now you've got HIM saying it!

BrassEagle (mod): The next person who uses that abbreviation gets to also explain the full origin and history. Or, alternatively, spend the night in the brig.

BeeFF: We're not military. And "**Q.E.D.** is an initialism of the Latin phrase _**quod erat demonstrandum**_, which means "what was to be demonstrated". The phrase is traditionally placed in its abbreviated form at the end of a mathematical proof or philosophical argument when what was specified in the enunciation — and in the setting-out — has been exactly restated as the conclusion of the abbreviation thus signals the completion of the proof." Need I go on?

IncidentalSidekick: Cheater. Wikipedia doesn't count.

BrassEagle: You're fearless. Why don't you work for me?

BeeFF: I get more in tips than the government would pay me.

BringTheRain: _Quod_-Indefinite nominative singular neuter pronoun meaning "which". _Erat_-third person singular perfect form of "to be". _Demonstratandum_-neuter gerundive from the first conjugation verb demonstrare.

LadiesMan217: ...wow. I just have no words for that.

BringTheRain: *shrug* All the hot chicks took Latin in my town.

Survivor: What are they, Catholic?

IncidentalSidekick: Catholic Schoolgirls! Where?

LadiesMan217: You can take the boy out of the Valley...

Camaro76: ESEEEEEEEEEE!

IncidentalSidekick: SHADDUP!

Ladiesman217: Yo quiero Taco Bell.

IncidentalSidekick: Voy a poner mi pie en su a**.

NurseRatched: (a todos) Debes echarse a practicar mas. Tu Spanglish es peor que un perro en fuego.

Survivor: Wait, what was that? I only took two years of Spanish in high school that I've tried to block from my mind. I don't even go to Taco Bell now.

LadiesMan217: Don't look at me, I took German.

BringTheRain: When was the last time you were within a thousand miles of a Taco Bell?

Spitfire: Christmas '07.

BeeFF: You keep track of these things?

Survivor: She does layovers just to hit up Subway.

Spitfire: I think he said, "You should H yourself to practice more. Your Spanglish is worse than a dog on fire." Or is that a dog in heat?

NurseRatched: Either way works.

* * *

NO EFFIN' WAY! Cami Rawlins? The code goddess owned by Langstrand? "Dude..." I weakly muttered.

"I know," Leo growled. "They're totally dissing Incidental Sidekick!"

"NO! Cami..."

Sharsky stared at me. "You know her?"

"She's the TA in my Comp Sci class!"

"You had a TA?"

"No! I mean, yes, but that ISN'T the point," I practically screamed. _Neither _of them were understanding.

They both looked at me in confusion. I heaved a great sigh. "Camaro76 mentions Cami Rawlins. We already knew that the blogger and his groupies had a connection to campus, but this proves, they're peeps we might know!"

Leo blinked, "Dude, don't ever use the word 'peeps' again."

"Wonder who else he's scoping," Sharsky interrupted.

"EXACTLY!"

"That's it," Sharsky said decisively. "You're on lapel cam duty until finals week. Get in good with Cami. Frigging ask her for tutoring if you have to!"

"It's extreme," Leo agreed, "but it's a risk we'll have to take."

"Be careful though," Sharsky's face was a mask of concern, "They might _already_ have _us_scoped out."

"Ew." I grimaced. "He can have the boy."

"Act natural," he hissed. "They might be watching for a change in routine."

"Decoys, man," I suggested. "You hit on anything that breathes. I can check the surroundings as a wingman."

"What about Alienboy?" Leo asked.

It'd been us, not him, for so long I'd practically forgotten Sam. "Any idea, when he'll make an entrance?"

Sharsky waved away my question. "Isn't he rubbing shoulders with Romulans?"

"Something like that," Leo snorted. "If they let him off DS-9 before reading days, we'll read him in."

"If," I muttered darkly, "he hasn't already been 'read in' by the MAN."

Leo just rolled his eyes, but Sharsky met my mine and nodded solemnly.

...

...

...

Authors' Endnote: Here is the blog post in English, courtesy of Google Translate (and the word "Travezura" means "trickster" = "Pretender"):

UNIVERSITY OF GIRLS IN FIRE

Well, today I realized there are so many hot girls in this are so many beautiful we should call the school The University Girls On Fire! The building of the child only, there are fifty-five girls on fire. You do not mind, BeeFF, the child is not looking for other girls.

The building of the child has so many girls on fire I need to ask: Is there a conspiracy? A combination of secrets? And why? Are the enemies trying to send a one hunting Travezura the child? And who is the Travezura? Rawlins ¿Cami? Can bodyguards kiss her this time? What do you think?  
Yesterday, 10:10pm


	22. The Jackpot Question in Advance

Author's Note: Apparently Ish and Kateydidnt are trying to out geek each other in this post. That and it seems that cardamom = crack!fic and Eowyn77 served Indian food at tonight's Botosphere dinner. You have been warned.

...

...

...

Schlepping. That was the only word for it and schlep was close enough to sounding like a dirty word to be appropriate. Mom respected the TSA regulations on liquids and flammables, but the woman knew how to Tupperware and I came home with enough stuff to practically dislocate my shoulder. I wanted painkillers, Dr. Pepper and eighteen hours of sleep in that order.

The rustling behind the door should have been my first warning sign, but I was too busy trying to not drop the bag with the cranberries and tofu. When I finally half-fell, half-staggered into the room, Sharsky belted out "Hit the lights!"

I dropped my bag, and distantly heard an ominous breaking sound, but was too busy trying to pick up my jaw to worry about anything else at the moment. All of the posters and kitten calendars had been cleared from one wall and a projector chained to a possibly stolen AV cart sat across from it. On my bed a large white board was propped up with what looked like a soccer practice diagram scribbled on it-in all colors of the rainbow.

"Sit," Leo growled.

The theme from _2001: A Space Odyssey_ blasted from my speakers turned up to max. I vaguely registered Cam next to the mp3 dock as my knees buckled and my butt hit the floor about two seconds after my duffel. This was _serious._

At least Sharsky passed me some supplies. First came a nearly-full power strip so I could plug in and take notes. Then a Dr. Pepper, unopened. Then, because this was us, a piece of stuffed-crust pizza. It was serious, but we didn't have to suffer.

The first slide of a powerpoint presentation faded into view with the heading "The Daily Buzz-Alien Invaders and Social Networking. Are YOU Prepared?" The auto-timed slide wiped from the top left to the bottom right revealing another slide with the heading "Unknown Subject Descriptions" and a table of all the handles of each Buzz participant along with accompanying details of what we knew about each one so far.

"Wait a minute," Sharsky said before we could even get down to business. "Who put in the fetish list?"

I hadn't even noticed that.

"Psychoanalysis," Sam said calmly. "I thought you guys would have gone all Freudian without any help from me, but..."

"Where are you getting _any _of this, though?" I challenged. "Camaro76: '80's metal groups. Optimust: Anything by the Dalai Lama? I don't remember anything about this."

"It's more of a personality profile," Leo soothed. "We're making educated guesses about a lot of things and this is just one of them."

It wasn't like I disagreed. I was mostly weirded out that Alienboy was starting to school _us_on the alien invaders. "Okay," I said, waving a hand.

"_Andale, pues,"_Leo added.

Sam moved to the next screen, this time the transition animation was a basic bottom to top wipe. I shook my head, "Dude, what's with the lame transitions? How much time did you spend on this?"

Leo looked slightly offended, "I'll have you know that bottom to top wipe is a classic! Its the same one they use in _A New Hope _when they pick up C-3P0's top half in the desert!"

Sam looked at Leo blankly and then shook his head and clicked the laser pointer on the projector remote to draw all of our attention back to the wall. He circled the title, "Organizational Structure of Alien Civilizations," of an empty flowchart with the red light and then said, "This is what we have come up with so far from the posts on the Buzz. We think there are two distinct, but connected organizational structures." The empty flowchart moved and resized to allow a second one. Above the right flowchart the words "Military Structure" appeared and above the left one the title "Social Structure" appeared.

"The military structure," Leo said, "is actually the easiest one to pin down. Obviously BrassEagle is at the top. However, NotTheToothFairy seems to be the most aggressive, so we placed him in this position, just below BrassEagle. NotTheToothFairy handles more of the day to day discipline. BikerChick, however, seems to have absolutely no fear of NotTheToothFairy, so we think they may be _involved_, against regs."

Cam's elbow slipped off the desk he had been leaning on and he banged his chin against the keyboard of a nearby computer.

"Optimust" Leo continued, ignoring the noise, "appears to serve the position of Morale Officer, and is probably the team psych, while NurseRatchet is obviously a medic. We've grouped those two therefore, outside of the main structure. They are probably," Leo's voice took on a note of authority, "fairly low in the chain of command normally, but have the last say when it comes to being fit for duty."

Sharsky nodded wisely, "Like Beverly Crusher."

Sam seemed to have trouble swallowing the mouthful of Mountain Dew he'd just taken.

"Emergency Medical Hologram Mark I," I corrected firmly.

"No way," Sharsky rebutted, "The Emergency Medical Hologram no longer counted after he was upgraded to include the Emergency Command Hologram subroutines!"

"He still pwns Crusher like the Borg pwned Starfleet's aft nacelles at Wolf..."

"_Oi, chamacos_," Leo snapped. "_Focus._"

"Did you really just say pwned?" Sharsky muttered.

"Damn straight."

"N00b."

"Amazing," Sam muttered, "I could actually _hear _the zeroes."

"That's what she said," Leo answered.

We took a bro moment to high five, while Sam still looked confused at how Leo's comment made any sense. Then Alienboy just shook his head and said loudly, just in case anyone else decided to start talking again, "We've got an anomaly with S&M."

Everyone except him sniggered. It was practically as good as Leo's snark.

"We either have two guys or an E.T. with Dissociative Identity Disorder." He smiled widely, as though proud of himself for working that out.

"I like that," I said. "Maybe I should amp up my psych classes and study aliens with paranoid schizophrenia. I have this whole theory about _Mars Attacks!_"

"Geeeeeeeeeeeeez," Leo groaned. "Can you guys stay on topic for three sentences?"

"Sorry," I said. "What was the topic?"

"S&M," Sharsky supplied.

"Besides, MPD and schizophrenia are two _completely _different disorders," Sam pointed out. Leo glared at him this time, grabbing the remote and pointing the laser at the next blank space on the flowchart. "Camaro76 seems like just a foot soldier on the surface, but foot soldiers are pretty low on the totem pole, so we figure he's got to actually be a lot higher up for The Man to allow him to run this blog."

"BrassEagle's wacky nephew?" There was a slightly exasperated sigh from the back of the room.

"Maybe not." He clicked the slide and Camaro76 appeared under the title, "Espionage."

"I think," Leo continued, obviously warming to his own theory, "Camaro76 has been in deep cover for waaay too long and the blog is a way for the commanders to allow him to reintegrate with society."

"Like that Brendan Frasier guy in...whatchamacallit...where he's in a bomb shelter. Comes topside and needs Alicia Silverstone to get him all nineties-fied." I nodded eagerly, shifting to relieve the numbness in my legs and butt.

"You just lost, like, half your testosterone." Leo informed me.

"What?" I protested.

"Alicia Silverstone."

I did the 'Whatever' sign and turned my attention back to the Powerpoint.

"Conslayer," Sam said reclaiming the remote from Leo, "is like one of those Viking Berserkers-you send him to the front when you want to deal a lot of damage." He looked around, as though daring us to go off topic again, then continued, "ElectricBlue showed up fairly recently, so I don't really know how he fits."

I looked at him like he was crazy, "Reinforcements, duh!" I said, "He didn't show up until after your little Alienboy adventure. He was obviously a specialist that they brought in to deal with all that droid of death crap."

Sam paused, thinking on that and then nodded. He grabbed the laptop connected to the projector and started editing the slide.

In editing mode we could see all the flowchart spots filled in. "Hold on," Sharsky said, staring at the completed charts, "Your social structure looks totally whacked out."

"That," Leo jumped in as Sam went back into presentation mode with the addition of ElectricBlue to the Military Structure, "is because..."

Sam cleared his throat, "We'll get to that. Don't get ahead of the presentation."

He clicked and the next name, Faithful, appeared on the flowchart under the title "Aide-de-camp".

"Aide-de-camp?" I said in disbelief, "Where'd you come up with that? He's like a flunky or something."

"Waterboy doesn't have the same ring to it," Sam explained.

"What about Survivor?" Sharsky asked, "Where does he fit into this?"

"Like frigging John Wayne," Leo said. "Guy scares the cool off me."

"Not like _that's _hard to do," muttered Sam. Leo pretended he had not heard and instead continued talking about Survivor. "Survivor is like that drill sergeant from hell that they have in the movies. That's what we've got so far for military. There are a few new names that were just introduced-obviously on the E.T. side of things," he said referring to the recent 'things falling from the sky,' "but we aren't sure how the new aliens LadiesMan, IncidentalSidekick, OneManAlone, and BringTheRain fit into things yet."

The music in the background stopped abruptly and Sam's head whipped around to glare at Cam who had been sitting quietly manning the mp3 player. Cam looked a little sheepish and punched a few buttons and the music started up again this time playing the celebration music from the re-mastered _Return of the Jedi_. Leo took the opportunity at Sam's momentary distraction to grab the remote from him.

Leo advanced to the next slide. "Social Structure."

"This one was tough," Sam added, "'cause we're talking aliens and so it's anybody's guess."

"_But_," Leo cut him off. "It looks like they're a bunch of Amazons."

"Matriarchal society," Sam corrected.

"Like..." Sharsky's eyes got wide, "Like hot babes running around with no clothes and lots of heavy firepower."

"_Alien _hot babes," I clarified, giving him a fist bump.

Sam coughed (guiltily - you could tell because he was red to the ears). "Well...BeeFF is in charge of the blog itself, obviously. And Spitfire is kind of a dorm mom or something."

"Dorm mom on steroids," I snarked. "Even NtTF won't cross her."

"Yeah, baby," I said. "Hot alien babes - even the queen bee."

"Actually, that's probably BeeFF," Sharsky said thoughtfully. We all stared at him for a second. "Queen _Bee_. _Bee_FF. Get it?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Naw," Leo said dismissively. "BeeFF is _not _the alien babe in charge. No way. It's gotta be the Jekyll-and-Hyde alien dorm mom."

My jaw hit the floor and I waved my hands for them to stop. "Survivor's human, right? _RIGHT?_"

"Stop flailing," Leo ordered. "You're freaking me out."

"Yeah?" Sam cautiously answered. "We think so, anyway."

"DUDE!" I started bouncing in my seat (well, it would have been seat if I wasn't on the floor). "Don't you get it?" My brain was buzzing with the sudden realization and the sugar rush after a week of health-food. "Spitlet! _SPITLET!"_

They stared at me blankly. "She's their _kid_! He's human, she's an alien, and THEY HAVE A KID!"

"So, what, he's an alien abductee sex slave?"

"Have you read Spitfire? She's got that Black Magic all the guys were drooling over! I'd let her abduct me any day," I growled.

Sam covered his face like I'd just suggested I'd had a Slave!Leia fantasy about his Mom.

"QFT."

"QED."

"So what about BikerChick?" Sharsky demanded. "Where does she fit? You've got her totally dominating NtTF."

Sam made the obligatory whip-cracking sound.

"Probably a steady thing, those two," Leo sagely said.

"Except that she was totally wanting to go shopping with Camaro76," I pointed out.

Sam shook his head at us. "You don't have to be a girlfriend to be the fashion police."

"But would he voluntarily go mall hopping with a skirt he wasn't interested in?" Sharsky pressed.

At that point, for no apparent reason, the stereo skipped.

"_Well, rule number 7_  
_Says don't touch the women_  
_but they can grab_  
_whatever they want to."_

Leo clarified, "The babes have the human _and _aliens all whipped."

"So...have we figured out how to get abducted yet?" Sharsky asked hopefully.

I whacked him that time.

"_Anyway_..." Leo said, clicking to the next slide, "we've got this as the breakdown of who is human and who is not."

A neatly ordered table appeared with two columns, one labeled HUMAN and the other labeled ALIEN.

In the human column, the names BeeFF, Survivor, Camaro76, BrassEagle, ConSlayer, S&M and Faithful appeared. The Alien column then filled in with SpitFire, Optimust, NotTheToothFairy, NurseRatched, Ladiesman217, Incidental Sidekick, BringTheRain, and OneManAlone.

I immediately protested, "Optimust is an Alien? He's like a nanny keeping all the other aliens in line, you really think they'd have an alien doing the herding?"

"But," Sam shot back, "They obviously have known him for a long time. They wouldn't respect him so much immediately if he were a puny human."

"And, everyone in Hollywood thinks aliens are geniuses or homicidal maniacs," Sharsky said. "As long as he doesn't whip out the turbolasers, I think they could trust him."

"Hey," Leo said staring at the screen as though something had changed since he'd input the data, "why do you have IncidentalSidekick as an alien?"

In perfect unison Sharsky and Sam both said, "Drone," which caused Cam to cough-grunt and shift in his chair and Leo to look like he had swallowed a lemon whole.

Our argument was interrupted, though, when a little noticed arrived with a chime in the lower left-hand corner of the laptop's computer screen. "The Daily Buzz has just been updated."

"Go! Go! Go!" I shouted.

"FTJ! FTJ! FTJ!" Leo roared.

"QED! QED! QED!" Sharksy bellowed, losing his head completely.

Leo threw the remote at Sharsky's head as Sam quickly closed the powerpoint and opened Chrome. Sam logged in to read the Buzz and the newest post appeared.

* * *

**JACKPOT QUESTION IN ADVANCE**

Happy holidays! We have survived Black Friday and I am now being educated on how adults celebrate The Holidays. Naturally, the boy will NOT be having any fun that requires a fake ID or which resembles the cavorting at the bonfire. Eggnog, wassail and even the bubbly being broken out over the next month will be non-alcoholic. And as you all are my witnesses, that applies to the parents, too!

So, I know BringTheRain will be celebrating Kwanzaa. Several of our comrades (ahem, S&M) will have eight crazy nights of Chanukah and most of us will just hope that we're not invited to the office Christmas party. I remember last year's festivities.

But here's a question: What are you doing New Year's Eve? Keep it clean, for BeeFF's sake. She's busy looking for poisonous shriveled greenery called mistletoe and BrassEagle shouldn't be on mod duty this soon after turkey.

COMMENTS:

* * *

We all stared at the empty comment section, realizing this was something that had never happened before. It was, like, a holy moment. We were the first to view the post.

"Damn, I wish we could comment!" Sharsky growled.

"Give me six hours with Lian and I bet we can swing it," I promised.

"No way!" Leo said in the most commanding tone I'd heard him use since I'd suggested a vegan pizza. "We post and The Man will be all over this like freak on Miley Cyrus."

Sam glared at him. "That made no sense."

"Yeah," Sharsky agreed. "Wish we could delete _that _comment. Where's BrassEagle when you need him?"

I reached for the remote this time, but then thought twice about pissing off the guy who knew where I slept. "OK, five minute Dew break," I suggested, realizing I really should make sure tofu and cranberries weren't smeared all over my clothes in my bag. "Give them time to comment, too."

"No way," Sharsky protested. "We just got into the groove."

Sam looked strangely elated at this prospect. Maybe he was really thirsty. Or had to pee.

Four minutes, thirteen seconds later, I was ready to bounce off the nearest hard drive and I refreshed the page to find out that the holy moment had passed.

* * *

COMMENTS:

Survivor: God willing, staying away from the TV.

BeeFF: Really? You have to see the ball drop, at least!

Spitfire: I second Survivor's plan. A week ago, he was laid low with the flu and never wants to hear the words _Jersey Shore, Road Rules _or _Secret Life _again. And Spitlet adores Dora the Explorer. So come on, vamanos, everybody boycott the ball-drop.

NotTheToothFairy: There's gotta be give and take, Spitfire. If you want the tube off, I want fireworks. And not those wimpy Roman candles like last year - I want _explosions_!

Camaro76: Cueing the 1812 overture.

Ladiesman217: Not on my watch. Remember the kitchen? And the garage? And the garden? and the _fountain_?

NotTheToothFairy: If he's allowed the 1812 Overture, can I provide the cannons?

BeeFF: Really? Pyrotechnics? Haven't you had enough this year?

NotTheToothFairy: There are NEVER enough explosions.

Optimust: In regards to both controlled substances and explosives, I urge moderation in all things.

IncidentalSidekick: Buzzkill. I'm not inviting you to my stag party.

Ladiesman217: And when exactly do you envision yourself in need of a stag party? Doesn't that mean you have to have a girl first?

BeeFF: QFT.

Bikerchick: QFT.

IncidentalSidekick: Girls ain't the problem, bro. It's all them chicks wanting a commitment.

S&M: Imma [This comment has been deleted by a moderator.]

Faithful: Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

* * *

Eagerly I called everyone back. "Hey! There're comments now!"

Sharsky made a beeline to the bed and claimed a seat where Leo had been before. Cam smiled and started blasting _Come On Feel the Noise_. Leo actually smacked into the wall on his way into the room and then scowled at Cam. Sam took a little longer coming out of the bathroom and when he appeared he still had his phone in his hand.

"Updating your facebook?" I asked, slightly scornfully.

"Um, yeah, something like that," he said as he leaned against the wall and gestured at the computer. "Do another refresh - see if there's anything more."

To our collective delight, there were a few more comments.

* * *

ElectricBlue: What was censored?

BeeFF: It made Faithful squeal. Do you really want to know?

Survivor: Explosions and high-grade, in moderation, sums up the plans. What about resolutions?

BeeFF: Housetrain Ladiesman217. And if I can manage it, Faithful.

Ladiesman217: Ha. Ha. _My _resolutions include NOT destroying any more buildings. You might wanna try it, OneManAlone.

Optimust: Always an admirable goal. However that wasn't strictly your fault, LadiesMan.

OneManAlone: Sure, side with the kid.

Optimust: It seemed a wise choice.

NurseRatched: *snerk*

Survivor: Wait a minute, since when are S&M religious?

S&M: Instead of one day of presents, we get eight craaaaaaaazy nights!

Survivor: A code of ethics defined by Adam Sandler. Now I'm scared.

* * *

We refreshed the page once a minute for the next few minutes, but nothing. Nothing.

"Okay..." Sam said. "So the morale officer's loyalties lie with LadiesMan."

"Seems to be the only one. I doubt they're anything but good buddies," Leo pointed out.

"Well, Ladiesman's the one taking the least crap from..." I considered. "Well, pretty much, the only one giving him crap is BeeFF. Maybe _they're _involved."

"Yeah right." Leo and Sharsky chorused. Sam gave Leo a dirty look for some reason. Leo smirked back.

I looked from one to the other and then shook my head and said seriously, "You guys are taking this _way _too personally. Please," I shifted into a straighter posture and gave them both my best piercing look stolen from my professor-father's repertoire, "remember we are scientists studying an alien culture here and we ought not take offense at other observers' conclusions."

Cam fell off his chair convulsing in silent laughter.


	23. You're a Mean One

Author's note: If you get all the jokes in this chapter, you'll be a fan of Boris Karloff, Trey Stokes, George Lucas and Stieg Larsson and you will be good friends with the husband of the Botosphere's collective best friend. Trying to go into more detail than that would take up too much time. While we usually give Eowyn's husband beaucoup props for everything from geekspeak to plot bunnies, 'Bee's post is courtesy of Eowyn's TF-obsessed 10-year-old. If you're curious, every insulting thing said about Red Bull is true. Wiki it. And thanks to Weston, MA Woodland School for making sure that Ish only remembers the Dreidl song and "_Shalom Chaverim_" from Chanukkah celebrations. And for the record, this character was named long before Ish borrowed a coworker's copy of _The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. _Kateydidnt, the original demon midget, got back to Utah on a late flight and added her own bits just in time to save Christmas. Merry holidays!

* * *

I had to admit that I hated my grade-saver from the moment the prof pitched the idea. If it hadn't been for my desperate need to get a B in my bird class, I would have told him-with diagrams and single-fingered waves-where to shove it. But if I turned up in Texas with a C, Mom would have an aneurysm and make me meditate on the error of my ways. While I was meditating, she would send a passive-aggressive email to my professor and eventually get the whole story. Suffering a couple of weekends of being his office boy was better than that alternative.

Plus, the hot girl from CompSci was a Teacher's Assistant and that meant that with finals around the corner, she'd probably be assisting the hell out of him. Girls like her got even hotter when they were at someone's service and, Lian's cuteness and geekiness and technobabble aside, I figured I was allowed to enjoy the view to pass the time.

Wrong.

First of all, there wasn't any downtime. Cami had probably reincarnated from some Nazi named Kommandant Stern or something because she didn't believe in letting my butt hit a chair. Ever.

But that wasn't what made me hate her even more than I hated the tweed-wearing jerk who was making me his bitch.

"_What_," she demanded within five minutes of my arriving, "do you think you're doing with _that_?"

I glanced at the top of the filing cabinet, where _that_was sitting waiting for me. "Planning to drink it, ma'am," I said smoothly. "I can get you one..."

"No liquids," she snapped.

"But the prof has coffee all the time," I protested.

"He has a venti latte with three packs of sugar, a shot of amaretto and three-quarters of an inch of foam and a separate cup for 2% milk in case he needs a boost," she recited at breakneck speed. "You're getting it tomorrow, so write that down, but NO LIQUIDS."

"Coffee counts as a liquid..."

"And it stays outside this office," she said, "on my orders. Before I came along, he lost thirteen percent of relevant papers to water damage, coffee spills or unfortunate toner incidents. Since my arrival, he has never lost a single paper and it's because..."

She plucked my Red Bull off the top of the filing cabinet, carried it to the door like it was a canister of plutonium and wrenched open the door to the hall. I heard it clang in the trash can down the hall while she still stood in the doorway. I tried not to be turned on by a dominatrix with a hook shot.

"Because," she continued, "I don't let him bring so much as a water bottle in here. And that applies to you, minion."

I stared at her. Nazi-in-a-former life or not, she was trying to channel either Shirley Temple on crack or that Umbridge chick from Harry Potter. She was as much a believer in shapeless sweaters and motheaten tweeds as her boss, but managed to make the patch on her elbow look sexy.

But I was immediately turned off. Turned off? Hell, I was on the verge of a panic attack. I staved it off by going stone cold and pissed off.

"That was a new Bull," I growled.

"Yeah," she sniffed, "and it's full of taurine."

"So?"

"Do the words 2-aminoethanesulfonic acid mean anything to you?"

"Ethanesulfonic," I repeated. "Like ethanol and sulphur?"

"_Acid,"_she repeated slowly. "And that stuff has cocaine in it."

"Only Red Bull Cola," I corrected.

"That's irrelevant," she said at a more normal pace. "This office is as dry as Death Valley for the good of Professor Langstraad and, so help me God, it'll stay that way."

"I'll put it in a frigging sippy cup," I snapped. "But I can't make it through class without one of these bad boys. Do you really want me to remember the difference between Witwicky and Warwick without caffeine?"

"Yes," she said, "and if you can't alphabetize, what are you doing in the Ivy League?"

"I'm here for the brainiac chicks," I said before my brain could put on my filter.

She snorted and shoved a stack of essays into my hands. "Second drawer from the top. You file by class ranking. Since spelling is beyond you, can you do basic math?"

I didn't grace that with an answer, just turned on my heel and grabbed the handle of the drawer. The damn thing stuck half an inch out, so I eased it back into place, wiggling it a bit to get it settled better on the track. This time, it got stuck a quarter of an inch out. I planted my feet and gave it one last pull.

I found myself on my butt under a pile of folders and a filing cabinet drawer. Everything in that drawer was now going to have to be refiled. By class ranking. Cami just smirked at me.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath.

"I'm polymerized tree sap, you're an inorganic adhesive. Any verbal projectile you launch in my direction is reflected off me, returns to it's original trajectory and adheres to you," she responded.

With that parting shot, she breezed out of the office.

"Definitely not turned on," I informed the powers that be.

"Definitely _not_ turned on?" Leo echoed. "_Mijo, _what the hell be wrong with you?"

"First, I'm not your mijo and b, there's nothing wrong with me," I growled. "Demon midget stole my Red Bull."

"And you didn't kill her on the spot?" Sam deadpanned. "Score one for self-restraint."

"That's not the point," Sharsky added helpfully.

"She was hot. She spoke fluent geek. She was a dominatrix in tweed. Did you just, like, turn that part of your brain off?"

If that had been a tagline for a movie, I'd be counting the days until a midnight showing, but knowing that all that came with a sociopath and a filing cabinet made me feel like I'd never lust again.

Sharsky turned a rare glare on our fearless leader. "I think what Spitz is trying to say is...did you frigging forget your mission?"

"Dude, don't even start with me."

He lunged at me and I thought he was going to actually sock me in the shoulder or something, but instead, he ripped the lapelcam off my jacket.

"EASY!" I roared.

"Make nice with her," Sharsky said. "Befriend her. Keep an eye out for any little green men or giant alien robots. _Any _of this sound familiar?"

"Hands off the equipment," I snapped. "I don't care if I sold her into slavery, you don't manhandle my lapelcam."

"Technically, it's mine," Leo added from where he was practically eating popcorn at his desk. "But for the purposes of this catfight, sure, it's everyone's lapelcam."

"You break it, you bought it," I said pointedly at Sharsky.

"Dude," he replied, "we were all watching. First contact was a disaster."

"Total disaster," Leo agreed. "It was like Han Solo and the Princess without the witty banter."

"It was like watching an anime romcom," Sharsky insisted.

"She stole my Red Bull."

"Yeah, and you're going to have to suck it up and get over it," Leo said. "No bro of mine is going to embarrass our sex like that again."

"Meanwhile," Sam added, "we've got the greatest hits stored where you'll never be able to get to them."

"Shape up or Lian will get to see how many times you checked out demon midget's butt," Leo clarified.

"Fine, fine," I said. "Did I miss anything?"

"We're working on getting in with the LOLcats people," Leo said. "They don't pay, but we can get people hooked on the squee and then make 'em show us the money."

"Waitaminute," I said. "You haven't retouched a long-haired in weeks. I thought we were moving on."

"_We_had an obsession," Leo corrected. "And fun as that is, we need more than football and your date fund to keep that going."

"Besides," Sharsky said. "Thousands of frat boys are trying to find something that doesn't flash 'COMMITMENT' for their gfs for Christmas. Santa Kitty to the rescue."

"As long as we can put in the one of the tabby playing with the yarmulke for December," I said, pulling up a chair.

Three hours of nothing but wide-eyed hairballs later, Leo saved the minx masterpiece that we'd been saving for February and spun around in his desk chair a few times to blow off steam. "This baby's practically ready to sell itself," he announced. "We'll work on it tomorrow, slap it on the site no later than Sunday. Who wants pepperoni?"

"Stuffed crust," me and Sharky chorused.

At least we could agree on one thing. Sam skipped out about a minute later, saying something about a study group and I rounded on Sharsky as soon as the door shut.

"Dude."

He gave me a talk-to-the-hand and went back to WoW.

"_Dude,"_I said more insistently. Between last week's blowup over being ten minutes late and him playing drill sergeant today, I wasn't letting this go. "Dude."

"Dude yourself." He stood up, headset still on, folded his arms and did his best bouncer impression. "You were totally off your game today, bro."

"Extenu-frigging-ating circumstances, _bro_," I snapped. "You didn't have to ream me like some n00b."

"Then you shouldn't have acted like one," Sharsky informed me. "You had one job-make nice with Camaro76's one true love-and you spent the whole time sulking about your caffeine intake. It was a rookie mistake."

The guy who could do little more than drool spastically whenever we went down Sorority Row was lecturing _me_on making nice with the ladies? Oh no he dinn't.

"Rookie mistake?" I challenged. "You practically frayed the wiring on the damn lapelcam that it took two downs for us to earn. While I was doing recon, you were on a frigging raid."

"How do you..."

"YOU TWEETED ABOUT IT!" I shouted. "So before you go all derelictioon of duty on me, turn off WoW, reschedule D&D, put down the Best Buy catalogue and maybe mod a thread once in a while. Edit some video. Do _your_job before you tell me how to do mine."

"Oh, so now you give an eff about your job," he snickered. "It's about time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I think you know what I..."

"Just answer the question, n00b," I snapped. "If you got something to say, out with it."

"What it means is other than ROFLMAOing twice a week since October, you haven't done anything since the Droid of Death and I don't think you even care."

"Like you've done better."

"I've debunked two theories and generated four more," he corrected. "I went to war with PayPal when they tried to shut down the survivors fund we started. Pardon me if I didn't spend my time doing flowcharts and checking out my TA's butt."

If this were Nancy, we'd have started shoving by now, but I reached past him and pushed the power button on his computer off. It immediately started the whole song and dance about forced shutdowns and ending programs. It was a douchebag move to make, but it was a gauge. If Sharsky were really into this, he would barely bat an eyelash.

Instead, he walked over to my laptop and calmly popped out the battery pack and power cord. Six hours of bittorrents in download blinked off the screen. I practically punched him. Instead, I held up both hands and stepped nobly between him and Leo's own desktop.

"Hands off the rest," I ordered. "Your beef's with me, not them."

"Fine."

With me standing guard, he bolted for our room and by the time I'd gotten there, he'd ripped my Call of Duty poster down the middle. The boy was seriously asking for a bitchslap. But I'd been an older brother a lot longer than I'd been his best friend and I recognized a tantrum when I saw one. I decided to be the better man.

"Do you really want to do this?" I asked as calmly as possible. "Me and you and Leo, that's how it's always been. Do you really want to start drawing lines of battle?"

"It's not me and you and Leo," he replied. "It's been me and you vs. Leo and Alienboy ever since they went all Area 51 on us."

"Yeah, and you're trying to make an enemy out of the one person you got left?"

"If you're not with me, then you're my enemy," he quoted Anakin Skywalker.

I got the sudden urge to yell, "Sharsky, my allegiance is to the Republic...TO DEMOCRACY!" but I struck my own bouncer pose and looked him squarely in the eye.

"You don't mean that," I said with as much conviction as I'd ever felt. "You and the three years we've been hacking into SETI records don't mean that."

"Well, you're not in on Alienboy's posse and you sure ain't on my side," Sharsky reasoned. "Sounds like _you're _SOL without me."

"I can do just fine without you and your guild," I asserted. "You think Leo would keep you in the loop if it weren't for me? You didn't even have VIP access to the realeffingdeal until I came along."

"Yeah, well, let's see how that works out for you."

And with that, he stalked past me. Granted, he tripped over a surge protector and knocked over Sam's CDs, but he eventually turned his back on me and got the hell out.

If I weren't so pissed, I'd have admired his balls.

The next day, I wasn't at an all-time low, but I was pretty close. Instead of putting up with Sharsky and whatever the hell was going on back at the dorm, I had taken advantage of the college's all-night library hours.

Big mistake.

The chairs wedged in between study carrells were about as comfortable as concrete slabs, but at least if I had crashed on a concrete slab, I could have gotten some fresh air and maybe a buck tossed in my direction. Instead, I used my Norton Anthology as a pillow and woke up smelling a lot like the guy who had spent four hours sweating his OChem file and reciting the chemical structure of fructose. I also had major spit stainage all over _Paradise Lost._

Worse, my phone had died some time during the night so by the time I booted up my laptop and found the clock on the taskbar, I realized I had 20 minutes before I had to be at Langstraad's. It would take ten to get to the dorm, another ten to find a shirt that didn't have pizza sauce on it somewhere and another six to get to the tech building. Herr Kommandant would probably julienne my fingers if I wasn't five minutes early, so there wasn't time for a run back home.

Instead, I stopped by Campus Convenience and invested in an extra deodorant and TicTacs after picking out some microwaveable breakfast sandwiches that I could snarf on the way to Langstraad's. I 'test-run' some hand lotion to make myself smell less like musty books and more like a socially acceptable man. My one major investment of the day was on a generic Trouts t-shirt that made sure that if Cami killed me, I'd die looking like I had school spirit. It wasn't until I got to Langstraad's office that I realized I'd left my coat in the store.

Even after doing everything to eau de cologne myself back to normal, I knew I'd gone too far the moment Cami opened the door. She literally staggered back and seemed to hold down her gag reflex.

"Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd," she breathed out, obviously trying not to breathe in anymore than she had to. "Have fun at the rave last night?"

"Studying for finals," I answered. "You should try it sometime."

She lunged for something atop Langstraad's bookshelf and I thought for a second she was going to pepper spray me, but I got a glimpse of Febreeze on the label before she started odor-neutralizing.

"Let me see your pupils," she said next.

"Like hell." I stepped away. "I probably had less wild and crazy fun than you last night—I'm not proud to admit it—and that's probably a first on this campus."

"You forgot the coffee," she said next.

She was obviously checking off a list of things she could do to insult me. "You said no liquid in the office."

"Correct," she said in a very slow voice. "You _can_learn something."

"Thanks."

"Don't let it go to your head," she retorted. "Now, since you remember the Red Bull conversation from yesterday, let's see if you remember what happens every morning at 10:30."

"You twist your panties one quarter of a turn?"

Oh God. I'd said that out loud. Now she was going to probably pepper spray me, kill me, sedate me AND report me for sexual harassment. And she'd get me kicked out of my 'volunteer work' and I'd get a C in CompSci and Mom would figure out that I spent most of the classes editing video footage. It wasn't even 10 and the girl who needed a booster seat to see over her boss' desk was completely ruining my life!

"I'll ignore that," Cami said after letting me sweat Moonlight Path body cream for another minute. "Do you remember anything about his office hours?"

"They aren't right now," I said with confidence.

"That's right. At 10:30, he sits at the third table from the wall on the third row of the southeast section of the Student Commons and allows students who can't make it to office hours to drop in for some informal advice. He does this with a…" She looked at me expectantly, but all I could remember was that there was foam involved. "Venti latte with three packs of sugar, a shot of amaretto and three-quarters of an inch of foam and a separate cup for 2% milk in case he needs a boost I _told _you to write it down."

"Doesn't ink count as a liquid?" I muttered.

"Which means," she continued over my gibbering, "that at no later than 10:23, he stops by his office to pick up his venti latte with three packs of sugar, a shot of amaretto and three-quarters of an inch of foam and a separate cup for 2% milk in case he needs a boost. What time is it now?"

"10:03."

"10:03," she repeated. "You have a phone, right?"

I handed it over and she punched in a number before dialing. "I'll pre-order it, but you, Bullboy, are going to stay on that damn phone until I am at the counter. You will apologize to the poor barista—her name's Amy—for having an emergency moment of stupidity. AND." She held up a hand to stave off my next sue-able comment. "You will have a credit or debit card ready so this emergency moment of stupidity is on your dime. Hi, Amy?"

She sounded almost human on the phone, joking around with the barista and eventually sighing that she wanted the usual. "Venti latte with three packs of…God, you're good! Yeah, and a strawberries and crème Frappuccino. Here's the freshman."

I was going to kick her aft back to wherever in the Bronx she'd come from, just as soon as I knew how I could do it without losing my job.

At 10:22, I heard Langstraad pick up his venti latte whatever the hell it was and thank Cami graciously before leaving. She stopped in long enough to declare the crisis averted and then said she'd be back to check my work in an hour.

Given that yesterday, I couldn't be trusted with a few ounces of pure buzz, I figured this was progress.

But no way was I going to spend that hour working. I'd chucked my breakfast wrapper in the can down the hall on my way here and had noticed that the people who were supposed to empty the trash had taken a day off. There was a flyer for a free concert in there that I'd seen yesterday and that meant that somewhere in there was also the buzz rightfully mine.

I carefully left the door open a crack so I wouldn't get locked out and snuck down the hall, checking over my shoulder periodically to make sure there wasn't anyone coming. Three doors down was the trash can and to my relief, the flyer for Steampunk was still in there. I gamely moved the top layer aside, but all I found were a few snotrags and a lot of balled up paper. Digging deeper, I found that someone had gotten a D on their _Ivanhoe _paper, but still no Bull. Given that it was a full, unopened, untainted can, it would have gone straight to the bottom. I took a deep breath, resisted the urge to cross myself and plunged my arm into the mess.

It took three tries. There were apparently four people in this building yesterday who had gotten to drink Red Bull, but I wasn't one of them. I threw the empties over my shoulder and went once more into the breach. I felt a stabbing pain in my right hand, but before I could yell profanities and hop around in pain, my other hand closed around something can-sized and it _sloshed._

I yelled then and ripped it free of its prison, hoisting it over my head and ducking the banana peel that came with it. I did a little victory dance that involved a moonwalk and half the macarena.

Then I noticed I had an audience.

She wasn't Cami and she wasn't anyone I'd seen before, but she looked like she'd walked into a William Peter Blatty movie. She'd been crying and I had scared her so bad she couldn't remember how to cry.

I lowered my arm and said, meekly, "Got it."

She ran in the other direction.

Well, I couldn't really blame her, but if she was a sign of things to come, I had to make more of an effort to look normal again. I ducked into the bathroom and got everything from pencil shavings to PB&J scrubbed off my arms and Red Bull.

As I left the bathroom, I heard a loud, rhythmic banging. It sounded like someone had left the window at the end of the hall open again, but when I rounded the corner, I found the girl who had caught me Dumpster-diving banging her head against Langstraad's door. It looked like she'd remembered how to cry again.

I almost took a leaf out of her book and bolted for cover, but even if Cami didn't ream me for making a girl cry, Mom had raised me right and I at _least _had to find her a Kleenex.

"Hey," I said in the kind of quiet voice that I used when Leo was having one of his day-before-calendar-launch hissy fits. "Don't do that."

"I'm going to flunk," she bawled.

Actually, it sounded more like "Imafuuuuuuuuuuu..." but I got the point.

"Shhh," I said. "Use your words. Tell me what's wrong."

"Imafuuuuuuuuuuu," she said again.

"No, you're not. Here." I dug into my pocket and pulled out one of those Kleenex minipacks that my Mom swore I would need someday. "Blow your nose, take a deep breath and we'll talk about it."

She mangled half the tissues getting them out, but she followed orders. Meanwhile, I sat down next to her.

"Feel better?"

She shook her head and honked loudly. I wasn't used to someone over the age of four crying this hard, unless you counted Sharsky on Cyber Monday so I did something desperate and maybe a little chivalrous.

"Need a Red Bull?"

She looked at it like it was liquid nitrogen in a can, but after a sniffly moment of consideration, she nodded. I popped the top and gallantly handed it over.

The cherished thing I'd suffered the trash can for was gone in three seconds flat. But at least she wasn't crying now.

"Feel better?" I echoed.

"Little," she muttered.

"So, what's wrong?"

She hiccupped, belched and then blew her nose again. "I don't get it," she said in a rush. "I don't get any of it. If I don't get a 90 on my final, I'm not going to pass the stupid class at all and I'm only taking it as a prereq for my major and I have to get this done if I want to apply next semester and he was supposed to be here for office hours..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Now that I'd gotten her talking, I couldn't get her to shut up. "Him?"

"Langstraad," she said his name like a curse. "I haven't been able to find him anywhere."

"You're in luck," I said. "Let's go inside and I'll draw you a map."

I reached up and turned the doorknob.

"Are you his TA?"

"God, no," I snorted. "Just trying to get some extra credit. But I know exactly where he is."

Two minutes and a diagram of the student center later, I handed her the paper. "Here. Tell him that Spielberg sent you."

"Thanks, Spielberg."

"Naw," I said with a grin. "It's just his pet name for me. I'm Fassbinder."

"Lisbeth," she said. "_Thank _you."

I felt like I should be tipping a fedora and muttering something about "'Tweren't no problem, ma'am." Instead, I grinned encouragingly at her. "If he still doesn't make sense, here's my number. I live with three hackers who would just _love_to help."

She frowned. "Are you hitting on me?"

"No, I'm just desperate to spread the good word of HTML," I sniggered. "I'd tutor Mussolini in CompSci just for the fun of it."

She laughed at that and pocketed my number, keeping the map in hand. "Thanks, Fassbinder," she said. "I owe you one."

"Godspeed," I said, waving my hand in a quasi-religious way. "And get him a scone. It couldn't hurt."

Because life was merciful, I only had to put up with class rankings for two hours before Cami decided she hated the sight of me and shoved me out of the office. I decided to head back to the dorm. No matter how much I wanted to reformat Sharsky's hard drive, I wasn't spending another night anywhere near the library. Besides, I could get much better studying done surrounded by people who knew what they were doing.

It was three days til finals and I expected the hall to actually be semi-quiet in respect for the impending doom, but I opened my door to hear, "The three words I would use to describe you are...STINK! STANK! STUNK!"

I covertly and suspiciously sniffed a pit. It wasn't as bad as this morning and Cami's Febreeze seemed to have done some good. Then I recognized the music.

"You have 20 pages to write by Friday and you're watching..."

"_Shhhhh_..."

Sharsky was nowhere in sight, but Sam, Leo and Cam were sprawled out in front of the largest of our monitors. I dropped my backpack off in my room and then returned to find the Grinch sweet-talking Cindy Lou Who or whatever her name was. Leo was snickering at the burnt-out bulb excuse. Sam looked like he'd just lost his best friend God knew _what_reason. Cam...

The big lug looked like he'd seen his first conspiracy theory website. He was staring stony-faced at the TV like it held one of the great secrets of the universe. I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, but he didn't even blink.

The Grinch's heart had just grown three sizes that day when my phone started buzzing. I scrambled off my chair and checked the caller ID. It was a 215 number, so not really local, but still in-state.

"Word," I said once I'd gotten to the privacy of my room.

"Fassbinder?"

"That's me," I said. I couldn't place the girly voice. "What's up?"

"It's Lisbeth. You helped me find...um...I was at the office?"

"Yeah, I remember you," I blurted out. "Did you find him?"

"Yeah." She mumbled something.

"Huh?"

"I still don't get it."

"Oh." I shifted my weight to the other foot. "Most of us are here right now. Want to come over and talk about it?"

"Yes, please."

"No problem. Let me get you some directions..."

I shut off the phone a few moments later and practically strutted back to the main room.

"What are you so happy about?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Peace offering," I gloated. "There is a hottie coming our way who is TERRIFIED of flunking CompSci. I said me and my roomies would be only too happy to help."

"Nice one, bro," Leo said, giving me five.

"Word," Cam added.

"Where's Sharsky?" I asked. "He'll want in on this action."

They exchanged a look and then turned in unison to look at the computer I'd shut off the day before. Obviously, he'd blabbed.

"Around," Sam and Leo chorused.

I really wasn't in the mood to talk them into taking sides or being mediators. I wasn't even sure I wanted to play nice with the guy who had ripped up my Call of Duty poster and mashed a bag of popcorn all over my iPod docking station. But if anything would get him off my back, it was a needy CompSci student.

"What's her name?" Sam asked.

"Lisbeth."

"Ooh, as in Salander?"

I rolled my eyes. Only Leo would get turned on by _The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo._"She needs help with her CompSci final. I don't think she's a Swedish hacker with a lip ring."

The door closed and I turned to find that while I'd had my back turned, Sam had shown Cam out. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Study group," he said.

"Jeez," I snorted. "Don't tell me people actually go to those things."

"There's usually pizza," Leo explained.

"Good point. Speaking of which..." I turned towards Leo. "Stuffed crust?"

"You snooze, you lose, bro," he said. "I didn't make you squat in the library."

"Nice." I dug around in the pile of takeout menus that we kept on hand for such an occasion and found Happy Family Schezuan Takeout. "I'm getting supplies."

"I'll take the wontons," Sam called out.

"Nuh-uh." I smirked. "You snooze, you lose, you eat my stuffed crust, you die."

The Chinese got there before Lisbeth did and I took a little too much pleasure in gnawing on peking spare ribs in Sam and Leo's faces.

"POST!" Leo suddenly yelled.

I dropped the box to the floor and bolted for my computer. Sam intercepted the box and dumped half my cashew chicken into the bowl he usually used for Lucky Charms.

"False alarm," Leo sniggered.

"Douche," I responded.

Before Leo could run a play of his own, I spit in the kung pao shrimp. Now no one but me could swipe it. Leo gave me a death glare and grabbed my fortune cookie.

There was a knock on the door. I scrambled over the debris on the floor, glanced around to make sure no one was naked or looking at fanart and then wrenched the door open.

"I forgot my keys," Sharsky muttered, not looking me in the eye.

"Get in," I snapped.

In my hurry to get him under cover, I nearly closed the door in Lisbeth's face. I pulled it open all the way and came _this_close to blushing.

"Hey," I said casually.

"Hey."

"You must be our new best friend," Sam said drily, passing me to shake her hand. "I'm Sam, the normal one around here."

"Says who?" Leo countered. "I'm Leo, the CompSci god around here."

"None of them are normal," I corrected them both, "but they know everything. Sam and Leo you've met. My man over there is Sharsky."

"Lisbeth Borg."

Borg? Her last name was Borg? I had to get her out of there before one or all of us had a geekgasm.

"Borg?" Sam asked. "Where's that from?"

"Swedish."

Leo's eyes rolled a little, but he managed to get himself under control. "Have a seat," he said. "You want something to drink?"

On his way past me to grab a Coke, he muttered, "We've _got_to get her a lip ring."

Three hours of decoding coding, hashing out HTML and teaching her clever mnemnonic devices to remember the ten things that Langstraad had said would turn up in short answers, we showed Lisbeth out. She had managed to get through it all without crying or hyperventilating, which was more than I could say for Sharsky. He'd spent too much time drooling to contribute much. The others had chimed in when appropriate, but Sam and Leo had spent a lot of time texting and letting me play the wise old mentor.

"POST!"

I spun around and glowered at Leo. "There's no more Chinese food and I'm not falling for that again."

"No, really," Sharsky said. "_Post._"

* * *

**YOU'RE A MEAN ONE...**

Watching the TV on a cold winter's night,  
My buddies and I saw a terrible sight.  
A green anti-Santa known to all as the Grinch  
Climbed down Cindy Lou's chimney and I've been creepified since!

It's true that we all love the Jolly Old Sprite,  
But who's watching the watchers on Christmas night?  
Any old monster in a red hat and robe  
Could break into your bedroom and nobody would know.

"We thought it was Santa," bystanders would say  
When the police see you've been carried away.  
"This close to Christmas," they'd claim in defense,  
"You wouldn't want to go and give Santa offense."

And even assuming it was Kris Kringle himself,  
What do we now of the Jolly Old Elf?  
He always knows if we're naughty or nice  
He watches us sleep – a stalker in disguise!

And so in the dark of this wintertide,  
I'm thinking of ways to improve my life.  
May your givings be plenty, your holidays white  
_Shalom chaverim _to all and to all a good night.

**Comments:**

BeeFF: In our defense, Santa is not the Grinch. The Grinch is not Santa. Santa...well, I'm sorry to burst anyone's bubble, but he isn't real. But that should let you sleep at night.

Spitfire: Don't tell Spitlet.

Survivor: Not for another five years, anyway.

Optimust: Santa Claus is a semi-mythical symbol of unbridled human generosity. He is someone who expects little and gives much. He is not someone to be afraid of.

S&M: Stop y'all's bitchin. Dey got dem presents. Who cares how?

BringTheRain: Seriously? You have ALL watched _The Grinch Who Stole Christmas_? Survivor, man, you gotta give these guys something to do!

Survivor: Yeah, well, the _other _family hasn't been on our radar for a while, so there isn't much for them to do besides go virtually exploring.

BrassEagle: Thankfully.

Survivor: It's the cleanest thing on YouTube.

Ladiesman217: Jeez, Camaro, I didn't realize that show rattled you so much! It's supposed to be kinda heart-warming.

IncidentalSidekick: Heartwarming? You didn't turn off the waterworks after he lied to CindyLou.

Ladiesman217: He was exploiting a child. I don't care if his heart grew three sizes that day. He was a selfish jerk.

IncidentalSidekick: Sounds like someone just found out Santa isn't real. BeeFF, where'd you find this guy? Preschool?

NurseRatched: Don't even get me started on the Grinch's astonishing, expanding heart.

NotTheToothFairy: Gotta admit, the whole Santa thing does have the potential for security issues. What weaponry could you use against Santa's sleigh?

NurseRatched: *facepalm* NOW look what you've started, Camaro!

BrassEagle: Should I warn NORAD that their Santa Tracking will be used for sinister purposes this year?

OneManAlone: You mean it isn't already?

Faithful: You are so slagged, NtTF. You ain't gettin' nuffin' for Christmas now!

ElectricBlue: I dunno. Could be interesting. First you gotta get a target lock on him, though. Too bad we don't have Wheeljack around. If anybody could lure an interdimensional anachronism into a trap using cookies and hot cocoa, it'd be him.

NotTheToothFairy: JOKING! (mostly)

BikerChick: Deep breaths, Camaro.

OneManAlone: That entire movie is a tribute to America's latent Communist tendencies. Sure, the Cold War is over, but what do we tell kids? Sharing is caring. When capitalism fails, join hands and rejoice in your lack of property! They might as well be circling the Kremlin.

IncidentalSidekick: What the hell be _wrong _with you?

BrassEagle: I am ashamed to admit that I agree with IncidentalSidekick.

S&M: QFT.

Survivor: You mean QED.

Ladiesman217: No, I think they mean Quote for Truth. OneManAlone, we're going to have to have Camaro76 tie you to a chair and teach you the true meaning of Christmas.

BikerChick: *snigger* Can I watch?

OneManAlone: I'm Jewish, you ignorant punk.

BeeFF: I thought the kosher deli was a front.

OneManAlone: More like the perfect cover.

Ladiesman217: We're getting off topic. Camaro, nothing is sneaking down your chimney or anyone else's chimney, for that matter.

Faithful: Speak for yourself.

BeeFF: … you'd better not have snuck into my house through the chimney...you'd better not have snuck into my house, period. I still have my blowtorch.

Faithful: Warrior Goddess!

Ladiesman217: Didn't I tell you he was perverted? No one over the age of 12 believes that coming down the chimney crap anyway.

Survivor: 12? Just how did you find out there was no Santa?

Ladiesman217: I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus.

IncidentalSidekick: I met your Mom and I want brain bleach NOW.

BikerChick: Okay, definitely not wanting to watch that!

* * *

For the first time probably since we all moved in, there was human silence. I could hear the whirring of the CD-ROM drive and the drip of the leaky carton of milk in the mini-fridge. I could even hear the neighbors across the hall playing something classical.

This must have been how Newton felt after getting that apple concussion.

It was like Einstein splitting the atom.

It was that big. It was big enough that I didn't even have anything else to really compare it to.

Sharsky was the one to put it into words and for once, they were all the right ones: "Oh. My. God."


	24. Where's Waldo

Author's note: We usually blame these chapters on Sunday night writing sessions, but Eowyn's husband let us invade for a Wednesday night as well and we thank him for that. Every Christmas gift in the chapter can be found online. Tune in next time for our first guest author.

* * *

I did the only logical thing I could think of: I practically knocked Leo off his desk chair and grabbed his phone.

"HEY!"

The unlock code was a cinch-Leo used 1138 for everything from his PIN number to his luggage code-but as soon as I went digging for his Sent mailbox, I hit another code that didn't respond to the magic THX. 1491, his b-day, didn't work either.

I was just trying to work out what else he could use when Leo smacked me hard upside the head. Instead of dropping the phone, I clung to it for dear life and kicked him manfully in the shins.

"Da hell?" Leo snapped. "Ain't no one but me allowed to see who I'm sexting."

"Sexting?"

Sam snickered something that sounded like "You wish," but didn't intervene.

I shook the phone like some kind of high-tech Etch-A-Sketch. "Code. NOW!"

Leo tried to pull a fast one and yank it out of my hands, but I had the thing in a death grip and he was lucky I wasn't cracking the screen or something like that. I turned and threw my shoulder against him so he lost his own grip on the phone and jumped back a pace.

Leo held up his hands like someone trying to show they were unarmed. "Chill, man."

"I'M NOT GOING TO EFFING CHILL!"

With Leo temporarily trying to be on defense, I spun around to look for Sharsky. Dork that he was, he wasn't trying to have some kind of epic effing showdown. He was waiting for the org chart to load.

"Yeah," he growled now that I had stopped for breath. "You're always talking about the real effing deal, so give it to us, Spitz."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Leo deadpanned.

"Yeah?" He stood up, looking kind of menacing for once. "Your big dumb friend just finished watching the Grinch and all of a sudden, that's all they talk about on the _Buzz. _You want to tell me THAT'S an effing coincidence?"

"It's December," Sam interjected calmly. "_Everyone's _watching it."

"You watch it and you haven't gotten religion since you went Wiccan for a week to impress Allie Maxwell in 11th grade, amIright," Leo said to back him up. "Fassbinder and his New Age Mom probably watch it before they burn the Yule log."

He was right, but that wasn't the point.

"Yeah?" I challenged. "YEAH?"

"We have nothing to do with this," Leo said.

He hadn't said anything in Spanglish or cholo-talk in five minutes. Sure sign he was lying through his slightly-crooked teeth.

"IncidentalSidekick even talks like you."

"And Optimust talks like the Dalai Lama," Sam shot back. "Doesn't mean he's updating from Tibet."

I threw the phone back at Leo in disgust, and then realized that we hadn't gone anywhere near Alienboy's Nokia. As if reading my mind, Sharsky made his move, but Sam chucked it over Sharsky's shoulder and into the mess of cables behind our computers. We could probably find the Lindbergh baby back there for all the things that got lost behind the computers. While Leo was trying his Fifth Amendment thing, Sam stood up and gave us a 'bring it' gesture. I moved towards Sam, not at all sure what I was going to do once I got into range, when a sudden weight at my back made me lurch into a desk. Thinking Leo had finally snapped, I pushed back from the desk and swung around to find my assailant was, in fact, Sharsky.

With a slightly manic look on his face, Sharsky grabbed me by the front of the shirt and dragged me out of the dorm, down the hall, and to the common room.

"OUT!" He bellowed at the three girls watching _America's Next Top Model _reruns.

"It's a common room," the blonde one said. "Do you get what that means?"

"It means if you don't get out, I'm going to kick the TV in," he said in a lower, more menacing tone. "OUT!"

It took about three minutes for them to stalk off in a huff, since they had to pack up the toe separators, nail polish, ignored textbooks and pillows, but by the time Charlie's Angels were out of the common room, I was ready to blow my top at Sharsky for pulling me out of our rooms like that..

"_Dude,_" I said as soon as the door closed, "that was _not _cool."

"I'll buy them cookie dough later," he snorted.

"Not that..." I rolled my eyes and jabbed a finger in the direction of our room. "_That_."

"We won't get anything if we go about it that way!" he retorted.

"At least _I _tried to get information out of them," I responded. "You were rearranging the hierarchy."

He gave me a double talk-to-the-hand and went to the door to check that no one was eavesdropping. "We gotta be cool, bro," he said in a quiet voice. "Use our heads. I mean, _think!_ Cam Romero...Camaro76? He's _here_. Alien or just cracked super-spy, he could be listening in _right now_."

I collapsed into a nail-polish-smelling chair in shock. I hadn't even thought about that. "And that makes Sam 'the boy' he has something special with?" I shuddered.

Sharsky stalked around the room, lifting couch cushions and examining picture-frame corners. I stared at him, wondering if he'd finally cracked, too. "What...?"

He held a finger up to his lips to silence me, then waggled his fingers under his nose. Sign for...alien? Moustache? Jellyfish? He tried again, waving his hand like he was trying to fight off a wasp, and then mouthed the word, "Bugs."

I rolled my eyes. "You've been watching waaay too much James Bond. They're not going to waste their high-tech gadgets _here_." A wave of horror hit me. "But they're probably watching every inch of our rooms 24/7."

"Like I said," he continued, dramatically pulling open the cabinets in the small kitchenette and examining the interiors. "Gotta play it cool."

"Yeah. Chill - like Frigidaire," I sarcastically answered, as he moved to the refrigerator, "How would a bug in the fridge even pick up conversation from _our _room?" I folded my arms and glared at him, still not convinced leaving Leo and Alienboy to more of their conspiring right now was a good idea.

He slammed the fridge door shut and crossed the room to me, glaring. "Don't you get it? We've been chasing the real effin' deal our whole lives and _it's right here_! Remember those essays we wrote about what we'd do in a first contact situation?"

"Yeah? Female, we do _not_engage in sexual harassment and let her be the alien mother goddess dominatrix. Male, avoid direct confrontation and..." I shrugged. "We had five different drafts of that thing. 'S far as we know, this isn't an invasion fleet, so scenarios 1, 2 and 5 are out. So, we're left with..."

Sharksy interrupted before I could get to my favorite part of scenario 4: striking a deal for the cooperative survival of both races. "We've already made first contact and totally screwed it up! Alienboy's been hanging with us since September, and Cam's been tight with us, too. Beating Leo up for his phone _isn't _going to get us introduced to Optimust or BikerChick. We've already got an in - we just need to work the right angle. With the Buzz, it's like we've got mutual friends on Facebook. Have. To. Play it. Cool."

"So, what? Just pretend they haven't been effin' screwing with our heads for the last four months?" My manly SETI pride was bristling at the thought. We were the ones who saw _through _the deception, not the morons who got blindsided by it.

"No," he emphatically said. "We gotta show 'em we're with it, that we can handle the crazy, that we're not going to spaz like Leo, that we're not going to pee ourselves no matter how many tentacles Spitfire has. We gotta be in _control_."

"How?" I demanded.

His face lit up as an Idea crossed his mind.

It was a bad one, but since I was distinctly lacking an Idea of any kind, we ended up going with his. We stalked back to the dorm room and paused for a moment to assess the situation. There weren't any raised voices inside since the jerks were probably texting the whole thing to their alien friends. I leaned closer to eavesdrop, but couldn't hear anything. I could _smell_, though, and what I picked up was infuriating.

"Kettle corn," I breathed. "The bastards made kettle corn for our little show."

Sharsky gave me a semi-cunning little smirk and cracked his knuckles. "Let's make it worth the wait."

He had his hand on the doorknob before I stopped him. "Equipment check," I hissed.

It was a very fast check, since we'd made it out of there with a cell phone a piece, a pair of boxer shorts that Sharsky had been considering for the laundry basket, a pen light and a yellow highlighter.

"You know your move," I said, trying to sound encouraging. "Make it now before you lose your nerve."

Our previous arguments forgotten, Sharsky fist-bumped me with the same dignity of a soldier saluting a general. "Game effing on," he agreed.

I threw the door open like it was the only emergency exit in a burning building and walked calmly into the room. Sam and Leo were on their desk-chair thrones with two big bowls of the popcorn we'd been saving for our post-finals rave, a practically-demonic grin on each of their faces. Sam's shrunk a little as I crossed the room in three long strides, but instead of playing good-cop bad-cop and knocking the bowl off his chicken legs, I thunked down onto my own desk chair.

I knew our plan, so all that was left was to get in on theirs. Currently, that meant that all four of us were sitting on desk chairs, staring intently at the door.

"What are we waiting for?" Sharsky stage-whispered.

"Beats me," I hissed back. "Sam?"

He turned a sort of incredulous look on him and I waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Sam?"

When he still didn't talk, I rummaged in my pocket for my keys. I had a squeeze flashlight attached and this I used to check Sam's eyes. The guy was in serious need of some Visene, but his pupils weren't dilated or anything.

"It's okay," I said quietly. "You can tell us."

"Tell you what?" he asked in a slightly constipated-sounding voice.

"Are you being controlled?"

"Controlled? Pffft," he nervously babbled. "No, we're not being controlled. Why would you think we were being controlled? That's ridiculous. I mean, come on, I've been perfectly normal all year, or, well, I guess as normal as a guy can get when aliens think you're your grandfather and want to raid your DNA for the secrets of the universe." He squeaked out the last bit with all the air he had left. His eyes widened as he took a breath and looked like he was trying to remember what had just popped out of his own mouth.

"Teleprompter from hell," Sharsky said gravely. "We've known practically all along."

Sam and Leo exchanged a look that I could only guess at and suddenly busted up laughing. Honestly, the morons were practically falling off their chair. I had to think fast when the popcorn bowl dropped to the floor.

"Okay, okay, okay," Sam gasped. "Please tell me we've got a webcam going on this. The guys are going to laugh their frigging butts off."

"_Hijole_," Leo sniggered. "You guys actually think..."

"Alienboy," Sam added. "This is _so_going on Youtube."

I was kind of tempted to say a few things they'd have to bleep out, but I folded my arms and looked at them both. "Aliens invaded and you went into hiding. You're saying that's a coincidence?"

Sam gave me a very patient look. "Yes, aliens did invade and I went into hiding. We went over this months ago. They thought I was my grandfather. _That _however, is unrelated to the online role-playing game my girlfriend got me into."

"Role-playing." Sharsky repeated with a completely blank look on his face. I looked at Sam in disbelief and then threw Leo a challenging look with the raise of my eyebrow.

He gave a shrug, "Sam introduced me to it after all hell broke loose, as if it would make up for him being wanted by aliens and getting me dragged into it."

Sam looked slightly affronted but added, "Yeah, guy gets hauled off to the local FBI field office with you, least you can do is buy him a Monster, get him addicted to something awesome."

"Are any of these guys military?"

"BrassEagle's in ROTC at BYU. BeeFF and Camaro76 started it, but BrassEagle was the first to hack in. And he speaks the language, so they let him be boss," Leo said. "Probably the most authority he's had in the last 20 years."

"Survivor's one of the original Call of Duty addicts. BringTheRain is married to an Air Force chick and likes to build model rockets during downtime at the office."

"What about Optimust?" I challenged. "If anyone's got some real authority, it's that guy."

Sam and Leo gave each other another look and, in unison, answered: "Kindergarten teacher."

"You have a 'special connection' with your kindergarten teacher?" I demanded.

Sam rolled his eyes. "We keep in touch."

"So," Sharsky said, eyes narrowing, "what's with the uber-encryption?"

Leo's eyes lit up. "That's the best part! We try to make it as realistic as possible."

"Right then," I stood up and straightened as tall as I could in order to loom better, "how do we get in on the game?"

"Yeah," Sharsky interjected. "We want in."

Both of them widened their eyes a bit, and then quickly tried to correct their expressions. I shared a quick look with Sharsky - good he'd caught that too.

"Well," Sam drew out the word and his face turned sort of sheepish, "You can only get access from a mod. I wouldn't be able to give you an ID."

"And there's, like, this forty-page application," Leo added.

"Overkill," Sam said. "I'll see if I can put in a good word for you guys, but I'm not making any promises. I had to make Leo sound like Patton to get him in as quickly as I did."

"Ok," Sharsky said, "let's say your story is true, that this 'role-playing game' has nothing to do with alien invasions. What the eff is the point of it?"

"New perspectives!" Leo said excited, "Man, Camaro76 really gets into it-seeing things in a different light, like someone who's never seen this stuff before, its so...enlightening!"

"Enlightening?" I said, "Now you sound like my mother. Do you also get your chakras aligned for free?"

"No, but BikerChick..." Sam started.

"Call her River," Leo interrupted. "Might as well ditch the nome de plumes."

"Okay, River thinks she's psychic," Sam finished. "We'll have to have her read your tarot sometime."

"So, BikerChick's real name is River. Give us one more real name, for any handle we choose."

"Okay," Leo said. "Who do you want, S&M? ElectricBlue?"

Me and Sharsky had a meaningful look of our own and I nodded, knowing he'd have the same idea. "Spitfire," he said.

"Sarah," Leo and Sam said in perfect, unrehearsed unison without even looking at each other. My expression fell. That couldn't have been faked.

"Our alien sex goddess is named Sarah?"

"What?" Leo asked. "You were expecting She-Ra?"

Sam shrugged. "Her middle name is Roseltha," he offered. "Not sure where her parents came up with that one."

Silence fell and all of us stared at each other for a moment, looking for any small tells. Sharsky finally nodded his head sharply, "Alright. We still don't appreciate being made fools of, but we believe you." I saw him crossing his fingers behind his back. "And even if you aren't leveling with us, we all have finals, so we'll let you off the hook-for now." He swept his hand out magnanimously at this pronouncement. "But, we do expect you to keep your end of the bargain, and get us in on the fun."

Sam shrugged, "Like I said, no promises; I can just put in a good word."

"Now," said Leo, "if this little interrogation is over, I have a study session I need to get to." Both Sharsky and I looked instantly suspicious. He rolled his eyes, "Finals? Like you just said? Study sessions, or cramming sessions depending on the class, happen at this time of year." He grabbed his bag and left the room.

Sam threw a dirty look at the door; I could only guess that he felt Leo was abandoning him to be outnumbered. Well, too bad for him, that was exactly my plan.

"So...your girlfriend introduced you to this game. Let's guess which handle belongs to the lovely Mikaela..."

...

It was pretty much a godsend that we had some kind of explanation for the _Buzz _before finals because that was the second-to-last thing on our mind with finals in full swing. While trying to crank out my term paper for Western Political Philosophy, I became intimately acquainted with the weird study habits of my roommates and-when I had to escape to the common room-the rest of the dorm residents.

The girls who had been so obsessed with Tyra Banks and pedicures on the day of that memorable confrontation were the hardest to ignore for unexpected reasons. I stumbled in on one of their study groups and was chanted out of the room with gibberish:

"EGO MIHI ME ME  
TU TIBI TE TE  
NOS NOBIS NOS NOBIS  
VOS VOBIS VOS VOBIS!"

They yelled it several more times and when no one yelled "Go Trouts!" at the end, I shouted "THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!" and scuttled back to my room. Their study group had brought me out of the finals-induced haze enough to realize we hadn't seen Cam in...a while. I couldn't actually tell how many days at this point.

I knew if I asked about it, Leo and Sam would point to finals as the excuse for their friend not stopping by, so I kept the observation to myself as I entered the dorm room looking for a peaceful place to study.

It wasn't much better there. Sam had faceplanted on his textbook for Astronomy before I had left and as far as I could tell, he hadn't moved since. Sharsky had his fingers stuffed into his ears while he recited the Bill of Rights for his US History class. Leo was currently playing Free Cell, but when I lifted his headphones, I noticed that he was listening to one of the webinars for the same final that Sam was apparently not stressing.

"Yo," he muttered groggily before reaching for another Twinkie. "Where you been?"

"Trying to study in the common room," I said. "I think the girls from Anthropology 101 were doing a rain dance."

"Latin," he muttered.

"Okay, Latin dance."

He scrubbed his hands over his face. "They're from Latin 131," he corrected. "That kind of crap is why I stick with Spanglish."

"Word," I agreed.

I dropped the earphone back into place and headed for my desk chair. I had to do Lit the next morning and I was going to get around to memorizing all the dates I'd ignored just as soon as I checked a few things like email and Facebook.

Luckily, my email inbox cheered me up; There was a funny e-card from my grandma, a notification from my bank that Dad had put some extra money in my account for airport food and, best of all, a notification saying my favorite blog had been updated.

"POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOST!" I roared.

Sam snorted, snuffled and fell off his chair. Sharsky stopped in the middle of the 2nd Amendment and unplugged his ears. Leo brought up the site without further comment.

"About time," he muttered.

But all was not as it seemed.

* * *

**WHERE'S WALDO?**

[From the Desktop of BeeFF]

Hey, everyone. Since _some _people aren't even poking each other over Facebook, it's time for the first whenever-necessary-annual roll call. It's been, what, a week and a half since the Grinch post? This officially qualifies as a dearth of communication. (Shut up, OneManAlone. Yes, I have a vocabulary and this is a dearth.) For people who can take time off to Wikipedia QED and pick a fight with IncidentalSidekick in six different kinds of Spanglish, this constant sound of crickets chirping is starting to creep me out.

Mostly, I haven't been able to get a hold of Camaro76. Ladiesman swears he's doing just fine and feeling the holiday crunch like the rest of us, but I thought it would be a good idea for us all to check in. I hope this coup will make the big lug post in indignation.

-BeeFF, sounding off.

**Comments:**

OneManAlone: Camaro76, you have to stoop pretty low to let Attitude-in-a-Training-Bra post. What is this, the Baby-sitters Club? OneManAlone still here, still alone.

Spitfire: And destined to stay that way if you don't learn how to talk to a lady. Spitfire, standing on the side of the better half of the human race.

Survivor: Survivor here, not getting involved.

Spitfire: And what do you mean 'dearth'? You all got our Christmas cards, right?

Optimust: Spitlet looked very charming in her holiday dress. Thank you for the missive. Optimust checking in.

Survivor: Spitlet was given a gobstopper and promised a Hot Wheels. And that was the eighth picture we took.

BikerChick: BikerChick here. I myself have checked in with Camaro76 and he seems to be functional. As for poking him on Facebook, I'm on my way.

NurseRatched: I wouldn't worry too much, BeeFF. He often goes to ground like that when he's due for a check-up. I'm reporting in from the medbay, so no comments from you, NtTF. Hmm...Did someone threaten to service him there?

NotTheToothFairy: You know, I was about to say something in response to NurseRatched and then realized it would sound just...wrong. So checking in and staying out of it.

S&M: The twits is checking in!

Faithful: The twits?

S&M: TWINS! That was a typo. BeeFF why can't we edit our posts?

Survivor: Next Wikipedia article: Freudian slips.

BringTheRain: Damn Autocorrect. S&M, I hear your pain. Checking in.

Camaro76: Checking in. Otherwise, radio silence.

BrassEagle(Mod): (to C76) WHY?

Camaro76: Self-preservation.

Optimust: From what.

IncidentalSidekick: We've got it covered over here, big guy. Nothing to worry about.

ElectricBlue: Why isn't that exactly reassuring? Checking in, btw.

LadiesMan217: We're just busy, guys. It's finals week. That's all. Checking in and checking out again.

BrassEagle(Mod): Still not entirely reassured.

NurseRatched: Lest anyone worry about ConSlayer, I'm piecing him back together after his training round with Survivor's new anti-tank toys. He'll check when he's conscious again.

* * *

I couldn't actually believe it, but knowing some secret identities was killing my buzz where the blog was concerned. Camaro76 was under the radar and that meant...he was practicing for his ballroom dance final? Sarah Roseltha sent out Christmas cards. S&M were twits and finally admitted it. Where was the usual brain-bending mystery to it all?

I spun in my chair and glowered at Leo. "You just had to go and ruin it."

"Yeah," Sharsky added. "This is BORING."

"Hey," Sam protested. "You didn't think every other post was boring. Give us a break."

"It's going to be boring from here on out," I pointed out. "When we had them talking about road trips and military action, we were all over leaked videos and eyewitness accounts. Now, you guys probably are just hanging out on Skype."

"Dude," Leo interjected, "give us a _little _credit."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Sometimes we cosplay."

"The only inexplicable thing on here are the 'anti-tank toys.'"

Sharsky was the one to jump in here: "Figured that one out," he said dismissively. "Ratched's pretty much your local GeekSquad guy. ConSlayer crashed his comp gaming and is waiting for Ratched to put it back together."

"Right in one," Sam said, "but Ratched only moonlights as a techie. He's actually a registered nurse."

I fired my stress ball at the corner of my computer out of irritation. "You couldn't have let us have our dream?" I whined.

"You were ready to go all good-cop-bad-cop on us just because Cam turned out to be in on this," Sam pointed out. "We had to confess before you got sued for assault and battery."

"Or at least stalking," Leo added. "Sorry, _mijos, _but you'll have to find a new hobby."

Rather than collapse in a depressive funk on my bed, I shut off the power strip servicing his and Sam's gear on my way to the mini-fridge. It didn't make me feel better, but it made them suffer a little for ruining my day. It all worked out in the end.

Lit was fine, even if I mixed up Chaucer and Harold the Conqueror and claimed that the Canterbury Tales were written around the time that the Normans invaded Britain and got themselves a sweet tapestry out of the deal.

In the grand tradition of saving the best for last, I had Langstraad's 3-hour final on the last day that professors were allowed to schedule exams. I was smart and, even though I saw both him and Cami on campus around the time that I was running to the testing center, I didn't make eye contact. It was best not to provoke them this close to victory.

I finished the thing meant to take three hours in 92 minutes and proofreading took another ten minutes. Since seating was first come, first served, I swaggered past the OChem guy from the library and one of the Latin 131 cheerleaders and handed it in with no one from my class to look envious. I practically skipped out the door.

But I couldn't go straight back to the dorm. I had a mission to complete.

The good news was that, wtith finals over and done with, I was no longer in indentured servitude to Satan himself. I swear I did a victory jig over that more than I did when my scantron showed that I got 100% on the multiple choice section of the final.

But I had put up with a lot of crap from one demon midget and I wasn't going to go out without a fight. I could have stalked in there with fists and voice raised, but instead, I turned up half an hour before Langstraad was due to give his last office hours session of the semester well-prepared. And I knocked.

Cami wrenched the door open and actually looked grudgingly happy to see me. "Minion," she greeted me. "No, you can't submit the grades to the university. Neither I nor Professor Langstraad are that stupid."

"I'm not your minion," I pointed out. "I'm earned what I needed-a B-and now I've earned my way the hell out of here."

"I'm very happy for you," she deadpanned. "Now, why are you here if not to do my bidding?"

I leaned over and retrieved the supplies that I had stashed outside the office. "Christmas presents."

"I'm an atheist," Cami informed me. "And Christmas is for capitalists."

"And I'm kind of pantheistic," I countered. "Suck it up and take your swag."

That chick at Starbucks had given me all kinds of weird looks when I placed my order, but she had a good sense of humor as it turned out and had done everything right. Cami squinted at the tray in consternation.

"What..."

"Strawberries and creme frappuccino, just the way you like it," I explained. "And a venti latte with three packs of sugar, a shot of amaretto and three-quarters of an inch of foam. I couldn't ask for a separate cup for the 2% milk in case he needs a boost, so it's in there already."

"In sippy cups," she snorted.

"Yeah," I said with a smirk. "If my Tasmanian Devil 2-year-old cousin can't spill one of those things, neither can the guy with a PhD and his evil apprentice."

From the look on her face, she was either going to hug me or beat the hell out of me, so I made an elaborate bow and backed away slowly, never breaking eye contact.

"I don't have to ever see your decaf self again and Langstraad has banished me," I said. "I think we all learned a lot from this. Goodbye and good rid..."

"Hold it."

I froze.

"In," she said. "NOW."

I wasn't going to make it out of there alive if I let her corner me in the office, but the story of how I bravely turned my tail and fled was going to be much less interesting than the Exorcism of Cami Rawlins. I crossed myself, prayed to Buddha, muttered something that I'd heard at my cousin's bat mitzvah and scuttled through the door.

She closed the door and snuck a sip of her frappuccino. Maybe demon midget had lost her mind under the pressure of finals week.

"We've been getting comments," she said quietly.

"I swear that orange juice was from that Taiwanese chick in section 7," I blurted out. "I didn't even know she brought it until the next day."

"Shut _up."_

"Shutting up, sir," I muttered.

I was trying to sit tall and take this like a man. If nothing else, she was probably too short to give me a concussion if I didn't slouch.

"Comment from Sara Steadman, section 2," she read from a paper. "I would have liked it if the professor showed up for his office hours, but that TA guy answered all my questions."

"I never told anyone I was their TA," I defended.

"Josh Leeds in section 4 tried to set up an appointment with you after you helped him with the short answer review," she continued. "I have six complaints on record that they can't find which section has you as its TA. Are you seeing a pattern?"

"I'm seeing myself out the door," I said hopefully.

"You're seeing your ass in that chair until I say so," she countered in a passable imitation of a drill sergeant. "All these people seem to think that you weren't as brain-dead as we all thought."

"I didn't mean to," I whimpered.

"There is no room for a TA."

"Thank God."

"Do you ever stop _talking_?"she demanded in obvious exasperation.

"Shutting up, sir," I repeated myself.

"Langstraad won't say this to your face, but he's got grudging respect for how much you actually contributed while forced to be here," Cami concluded. "There are no more TA positions open, but he'd like you to consider a position as one of his designated tutors for the next semester."

I spent a few minutes catching flies with my slack jaw while she kept working on that frappuccino. She didn't demand an answer once. When I finally blurted out "Like hell," though, she held up the sippy-cupped hand.

"He'll give you a B+ if you say yes before you leave for the holidays."

"That's breaking our contract," I protested.

"So was your talking to any of his students and look how well that turned out," she reminded me. "It's paid. It's paid barely more than minimum wage, but it's paid and it will look good on a resume if you ever decide to suck it up and get a real job. Freshmen will think you're God and.."

She set down the cup and rummaged through her bag. A moment later, she straightened up and handed me a new Red Bull.

"Staff can have drinks in the designated area," she said.

I had the urge to actually retreat to whatever designated area she meant and chug it before she changed her mind, but I held it carefully between my palms and gave her a long, hard look.

"What are the hours?"

"That's up to you," she said. "Wherever, whenever. Your number will be on the syllabus of two sections and it's up to them to contact you."

This was sounding better and better by the minute. The thought of my name on something other than a blacklist was almost too much to take.

"And Langstraad knows about this?" I challenged one final time.

"It wasn't his idea, but he resigned himself to the fact that you're almost as good as you claim," she said with an almost-smile.

That really sounded too good to be true, which made my head start throbbing. I plastered the cold can of Bull to my forehead and sat in silence for a long minute. I didn't even bother thinking, since I wasn't going to make sense to me anyway.

"Okay," I said finally. "Tell him I'll do it."

"Great," she said with what sounded suspiciously like enthusiasm. "I'll email him before I leave this office. You'll be receiving a notification from Student Employment Services sometime before the term resumes, but he'll be in contact before then to finalize the details."

"Okay."

"And we have a pre-term staff meeting at Wire on Bradshaw St. the Thursday before classes start," Cami continued.

Once we were on the same side, she turned into an actual human being. This was even more surrealist than I thought.

"Okay."

She snapped her fingers in my face with a hint of her old impatience. "Aren't you going to say anything else?"

I looked at her blankly for a while before muttering, "I ain't getting nobody's coffee."

"I don't want you to," Cami said. "I don't trust anyone else to get it right."

"Okay."

I made it to the door before I remembered what she was probably waiting for in the first place. I turned and saluted her with my Red Bull.

"Thanks, Cami."

...

The dorm was mostly empty. Not a lot of profesors were big enough jerks to keep us in town this long, so all I could hear was a distant Adam Sandler Chanukkah song, the next-door posers playing _The Nutcracker_and the sweeter sounds of Coldplay in my own room.

"Heeeeeeeey," Leo cheered when I walked in. "I thought you were done at 12. We been saving pizza."

It must have officially been the holidays because they'd actually saved me some pizza and Leo was acting like he'd been hitting the eggnog pretty hard. I knew it was an act, though. He never touched booze - something about it affecting his powers with the laydeez - so it was just him being punch-drunk and slap-happy about not having to crack a book for almost a month.

"Where is everyone?"

"Sammy's stocking up on Cocoa Puffs," Leo said. "He's got another 24 hours before his flight and he thinks he'll starve with the dining hall closed."

"I say we send him some surprise Chinese food tomorrow," I proposed. "Show we feel his pain and are trying to sympathize with his abandonment issues."

"Good call," he said. "Sharsky's talking to Geena in 308. They're carpooling to the airport."

I frowned. "I thought we were giving him a ride."

"She's a redhead and has a collection of Thinkgeek t-shirts," Leo pointed out. "Our car broke down."

"Niiiice."

Sam and Sharsky showed up around the same time, looking pleased with themselves for various reasons.

"So," Sam said, "are we doing this?"

"We better," Sharsky said. "Geena wants to leave in an hour."

"It won't take that long," Leo promised. "What do you want, the quarterly review or the presents first?"

"Quarterly review," I suggested. "I want me my Christmas bonus."

Leo obligingly extracted four envelopes from his backpack and waved them in the air. "Quarterly review," he announced. "Thanks to the generous stupidity of Deans Nightingale and Forrest, plus an unprecedented gambling problem on this campus..."

"Plus our sidelines up and down the Eastern seaboard," Sam added, bowing to Sharsky as the man with the plan who had come up with the satellite cons.

"We finished out the quarter with a little more money than we expected. That means..."

He stared impatiently at Sam until he leaned over and cued up another Powerpoint called "Upgrades."

"We're able to make some more investments."

The first few pictures were test-photoshops of next year's calendars. Obviously first drafts, but they were promising. We applauded encouragingly.

The next slide made us clap a little harder, since it looked like what would happen if James Bond ran Best Buy.

"And, last but not least..."

The last slide was a page of really little text.

"Huh?"

We all crowded around ot read the fine print, but it was an order number, tracking number, the UPS logo and a shipping cost total that was a little bit staggering.

"I don't get it," I admitted.

On cue, someone knocked on the door. Leo opened it to reveal our perky RA waving one of the familiar package slips.

"Last call for Santa," she trilled. "It's for...Alienboy and the Addicts? Is that a new band?"

Leo snatched the slip from her hand. "Thanks!" he yelled as he ran for the stairwell. We followed suit, running as fast as we could for the student mail desk one building over. The guy at the desk was looking bored when we arrived and nonplussed when we piled up in front of him.

"Package," Sam said breathlessly.

"ID?"

Sam flashed his ID and the mailman shook his head. "I don't have anything for a Samuel J Wicket," he said. "Next!"

"Alienboy and the Addicts," Sharsky growled. "He's Alienboy. We're the Addicts."

"We really need a new name," I pointed out to Leo.

"Well, I wasn't going to put it under IncidentalSidekick," he said with a roll of the eyes. "Sir?" He waved the slip at the man who had gone back to reading something. "This is the package slip and you can probably find Leo Spitz as the guy allowed to sign for it?"

He checked his lists, checked it twice, probably to find out who's naughty or nice. Finally, he nodded. "ID?"

Leo shoved his way past the rest of us and shoved his own driver's license across the counter.

"Are you sure you boys can handle it?" the mail guy said over his shoulder. "It's pretty big."

Sharsky was now bouncing on his feet like a kid waiting for his new red bicycle. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy..."

"We got it," Sam said calmly.

'It' turned out to be a box the size of Nebraska, but that wasn't what caught our attention. It was the picture of the monster-big-screen TV on the side that had us jumping around and hugging each other in a very un-macho way.

"As I was saying," Leo said once we'd stopped squealing like girls. "We have a use it or lose it policy here and there was enough left over that we thought we should upgrade our movie nights."

"We are _SO_ watching _Terminator _on this," I announced to the desk clerk who really didn't look like he gave a crap as long as we left pretty soon.

It took us 20 minutes and a lot of breaks to get the thing up to our floor, but we did it in the end. It's an unwritten geek rule that the longer it takes to set up, the more awesome it is, and this thing took another 20 minutes to set up, partially because we had to hunt down a toolbox to mount it on the wall. Finally, though, we stood back and practically wept at our own coolness.

"We. Are. Gods," Sharsky pronounced.

"Booyah," I agreed, "so what's in the envelope?"

He passed them around and I opened mine to find a gift card to Olive Garden - "For any Lian-related activities," Leo explained - and three hundred-dollar bills.

"Holy frick," Sharsky said in an awed voice. "Just how stupid _was _Dean Nightingale?"

"She let Alienboy stay here," Leo said. "I'd say pretty stupid, but she also bet heavily over Thanksgiving and doesn't understand as much about football as she thinks she does."

"I love that woman," Sam said fervently.

"Go and tell her that now," I suggested with a snicker. "It'd make her Christmas."

"I'll tell Mikaela," Sharsky volunteered.

"Okay," Leo interrupted, "roomie presents. Go."

We all scattered to our various hiding places. We'd drawn names for presents and I'd gotten Sam, so I'd been keeping his box stashed behind my laundry bag for a week. Sharsky wiggled out from under his bed, covered in lint and holding a box that he hadn't bothered to wrap, but which was decorated with a really big bow.

Leo dropped the box he'd been lugging with an ominous clink at my feet. "Because you took one for the team with Cami Rawlins," he announced.

It turned out to be two 24-can cases of Red Bull. I felt a little choked up by the thoughtfulness, but that also reminded me that I hadn't gotten the chance to mention how much I was taking from Cami Rawlins.

"Um..."

"If you don't like it, I'll take it off your hands," Sharsky volunteered.

We all yelled, "NO!" like we were chewing out a bad dog.

"Thanks," I said sincerely. "I'll get to drink a lot of this at work."

"Work?" Sam echoed. "Since when do you have a job?"

"Since demon midget offered me one," I muttered. "I'm going to be one of Langstraad's official CompSci tutors."

Leo crowed with laughter and punched the air. "Ha! You got a B _and_ a paycheck out of Langstraad? _Classic."_

"B+," I corrected. "He offered me a grade boost if I said yes before the break."

"That's it," Sam commented. "You're our official negotiator. Next time I get thrown out, I'm letting you talk The Man into letting me back in."

"I'm not sure I'm _that _good," I said modestly. "And now I'm stuck with Cami Rawlins."

"You'll survive," Sam said. "Who's next?"

"Me, me, me!" Sharsky shoved the box at Leo. "Happy whatever."

Leo pulled out two sheets of paper and started laughing immediately. "_Chevre,_" he decided. "Thanks, man."

"What?" I asked. "He got you paper?"

"He got me Mega Man wall decals," Leo explained. "This is the room with the mother of all TVs _and _8 bit Nintendo awesomeness."

And it went back to the lecture Leo had given me sometime in October about how Bowser had nothing on Dr. Wily. I didn't think Sharsky had even been listening.

"I'll go next," I offered. "Merry Christmas, Alienboy."

I'd had to search cafepress for a while, but I'd finally found him a sweatshirt with an alien face and "Embrace the Unknown" on it. He fist-bumped me and immediately pulled it over his head.

"I'm wearing this for the Christmas portrait," he announced.

"Get it on video," I advised.

"And finally..."

Sam handed Sharsky a bigger box than the rest of us had used. "I couldn't find just one big awesome thing, so I found you a few kick-butt things instead."

It was perfect. For our spy-wannabe, Sam had obviously trolled Thinkgeek and found a hidden wall safe, a micro sonic grenade for creating diversions and a RFID blocking wallet.

It wouldn't have been cool to do a group hug, but we generally milled around and got mushy for a minute before we remembered we were Men and Macho.

"So, good work this year," Leo concluded. "We'll try and do better next quarter so we can set up some kick-butt speakers with that thing. Other than that, see you in January and try not to embarrass me over the break."

"Try not to get abducted by aliens, real or imaginary," I shot back. "Or if you do, invite us along."

Leo smirked. "I'll see what I can do."

...

"Have they posted any results?" Dad asked as soon as I was buckled up. He'd somehow managed to contain his professor-self until we were away from the airport masses of holiday travelers.

"Nope," I said around a yawn, "but I'm getting a B+ in CompSci and the professor wants me to work as one of his tutors next semester."

"That will be good for your resume," he commented. "Let me know when you hear about your Literature grade."

I was looking out the passenger-side window at a fat lady with a duffel bag, so he didn't see me roll my eyes. "Everything good around here?"

"Everything has been hectic," Dad said. "Your sister decided to eschew her non-denominational tendencies and sign up for the St. Mark's Christmas pageant."

"Whenever it is, I've already made a commitment to be somewhere else," I said quickly.

"It's Christmas Eve and we already got you a ticket," he corrected me. "And your mother invited that Lian girl."

On the up side, I had an excuse to sit in the dark with my girl. On the downside, it would be in a church and there was very little you could do that was romantic when Father McInerny was keeping an eye on you.

"Okay," I sighed, "I'm in."

We got through the rest of the drive by talking about the essay questions from my Lit exam. I was pretty much on autopilot, so I could have started rambling about whether Optimust liked _Beowulf _and not have noticed, but Dad didn't give me any weird looks and that meant I was semi-coherent.

By the time I got home, though, the 6 a.m. flight I'd had to take had worked its magic and I was barely conscious enough to give Mom a hug. Nancy still wasn't off school, so the house was mostly quiet. All I could hear was the acoustic guitar music Mom played when it was the most wonderful time of the year.

As my face hit the pillow, I heard Leo's texting tone go off, but I didn't even have the energy to care. I was out before I could think to turn my phone off.


	25. Welcome to the District

Author's note: Thanks for your patience. Here's some holiday fun for the whole family with a bit of crack mixed in. But don't worry, we're counting down the pages until we can get the whole gang together again. We'd like to take this opportunity to give props to our guest author, RK_Striker_JK_5. This was started back in February, when he came for a visit/symposium. If any of you are wondering how the writing process worked, we pointed him at a laptop and growled "WRITE!" Then, as usally happens, the rest of us jumped in to stir things up and add various elements. We tried to finish it in a mid-week writing session again, but that just didn't work out for us. Now that the weather is in the '50's and the muse struck again, here it is. But Striker was largely responsible for the Olive Garden hilarity. He also can be seen sneaking brilliance into the blog comments.

* * *

In hindsight, I figured those seventeen hours passed out on top of my covers made up the most amount of consecutive time that I'd spent horizontal since graduating high school. Maybe since I'd stopped napping and learned to live off coffee. Either way, I felt a hell of a lot better when I woke up. Either Mom had aligned my chakras when I wasn't looking or I'd really needed some sleep.

I immediately listened for whatever had woken me up, but not a creature was stirring, not even an annoying sister. That was probably because it was about three in the morning. Even Mom wasn't up for yoga this early.

I could have gone back to sleep or unpacked and put my clothes away. Instead, I plugged my phone into the wall-it'd gone dead sometime after Leo texted me-and grabbed my laptop.

It had to be said that, for all the claims that "there's no place like home," there were a few disadvantages. I found my Mom's New Age crap quirky, Dad's ability to give us hypothermia by thermostat in frigging _Texas_annoying, but the only thing that tempted me to stay at school for every single holiday was the internet speed.

Before steampunk, there was Mom and it had taken an act of God and a short-lived addiction to Rachel's Retreat to wean her off of dial-up. She said it gave her a real connection to the world around her that fused inner harmony and job responsibilities. Mom would order the latest in cutting-edge technology for the office, but if it had been up to her, she would have used an Apple IIc until the day she died. I had saved up my allowance for six months to get a router, set it up as a 'homework assignment' and brought us out of the Dark Ages around the time that I should have been studying a little harder for the PSAT's. Mom hadn't been happy about the PSAT's, but I looked up Kaplan at the speed of light and got into an Ivy League, so it all worked out in the end.

It took a few tries to get a good connection, though. By the time I had repaired the connection and power-cycled the router for good measure, I was awake without the help of a Red Bull.

Emails #1-10 were from Leo and Sharsky. Leo was just emailing me funny crap he found while bored and Sharsky usually just re-emailed it, but this time, he had some vids for me to edit. It was practically another early Christmas present. I saved it to my hard drive and went to the other 20 emails.

#11 was an e-card from Grandma, who couldn't figure out Facebook but had been introduced to Bluemountain(.)com by my well-meaning Aunt Sandra. There weren't really "Congrats on surviving finals!" cards out there-not ones that Grandma would approve of, anyway-but she had found one that seemed more appropriate for a 3-year-old who had mastered potty-training. It was the thought that counted.

#12 was from Langstraad. I managed to not gag at the sight of his email address, but the attachment, labeled "Employeecodeofconduct(.)doc," almost made me hyperventilate. I closed the computer immediately and went looking for my phone.

There were two voicemails and four texts, all from Leo this time. After reading just one of the texts, I dove for my laptop again and went straight to _The Buzz. _

* * *

**WELCOME TO THE DISTRICT**

So, a while back someone (*coughOptimustcough*) suggested we start a book club, but some of us have a harder time getting our hands on a paper copy of stuff than others. I figure we've all got Netflix; we can have a weekly movie night instead.

So, this week, I was looking for a good laugh and picked _District 9 _instead of watching _Toy Story _for the hundredth time. Alien invasion gone wrong, I figured it was something we could all relate to, right?

Wrong. I'm no expert here, but the way I see it, _District 9 _is to alien invasion what _Rambo_ is to the Viet Nam war. Overreacting bad writing by idiots who think the worst-case scenario is COOL. Rambo taught me that if you want to research a factual event, don't go to Sylvester Stallone. _District 9 _taught me that if you want to imagine a world where humans have made first contact, don't go to Peter Jackson.

Plus, the aliens were insipid. They could fight and all, but they just wanted to go home. I mean, sure, it was nice to see aliens portrayed as something other than power-hungry warlords, but come on. They had no ambition at all. It was ET meets slacker.

They could have done something interesting with the whole oppressed castaways theme, but they kind of lost focus. Really, I wasn't clear on what the takeaway message was supposed to be by the end.

Thoughts? Anyone else seen this?

**COMMENTS:**

IncidentalSidekick: Don't meet aliens because you will get pregnant and you will die. That's the takeaway.

Ladiesman217: Stealing _Mean Girls _quotes? You fail!

IncidentalSidekick: Suck it, ladiesman. You recognized it.

Spitfire: Do I have to send you to bed with no supper, boys?

BeeFF: Saw it, unfortunately. I figured I couldn't go _too _far wrong with Peter Jackson, but...yeah.

NurseRatched: (to IS) *snigger* The thought of you bearing _anyone's _young is an effective argument for universal birth control access.

Camaro76: Next week, _Junior. _The Terminator with a bun in the oven is scarier than that.

BringTheRain: I heard it was supposed to be some kinda anti-racist, "hug your friendly neighborhood immigrant" thing.

BrassEagle (moderator): If a single one of you starts in on the immigration issue, I will shut down this thread now. There is not enough Excedrin in the world to make me moderate that discussion.

Optimust: It contained an unusual amount of violence for a pro-brotherhood message.

Faithful: That's what we call _irony_, boss.

ConSlayer: Saw it. The special effects sucked. And what the frag kind of fighting technique was that?

BikerChick: What do animated puppets have to do with alien impregnation? (And I'm with you, NR. EW! No extraterrestrial being with enough intelligence to get to Earth would think IncidentalSidekick is sexy).

Camaro76: Huh?

Ladiesman217: Do you think _any _of us are sexy?

Spitfire: Wrong movie, BC. You're thinking of _9_, which would be safe for even Spitlet to see.

IncidentalSidekick: (to BC) What are you saying, femme?

BikerChick: That interstellar reproduction is way overrated.

Camaro76: *choke* What?

BeeFF: Mind the rating! *reaches for the brain bleach*

BikerChick: (to C76) Gotcha. *grin* (to LM217) No.

NurseRatched: What's the human fascination with 9, anyway? _Plan 9 From Outer Space, District 9, 9, Nine _(musical)_... _And that's before you get to "99 Red Balloons" and Nine Inch Nails.

Survivor: Not to mention 'Revolution Number Nine' by the Beatles.

Ladiesman217: And my Mom's favorite, "Love Potion Number 9."

IncidentalSidekick: I can tell you the fascination with Seven of Nine.

BeeFF: (to IS) *thump*

IncidentalSidekick: What is this? "Kick the brave-human-bodyguard night?"

OneManAlone: Hebrew numerology excludes it as a mystical and sacred number. (to IS) No, obviously. They're leaving me alone and just ganging up on _you_.

IncidentalSidekick: ha ha *thump*

NurseRatched: (to OMA) You study kaballah?

IncidentalSidekick: He's hoping he'll run into Madonna at temple.

OneManAlone: Or Barbara. I'm not picky.

Optimust: I have also seen it referenced in Asian cultures, so it is not an exclusively Semitic fixation.

NurseRatched: Peter Jackson himself has helmed a trilogy based on the 9-man Fellowship of the Ring fleeing the 9 Ringwraiths. Perhaps it's just him.

IncidentalSidekick: It's not.

S&M: "Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of DOOOM!"

Spitfire: You're never going to forgive me for letting them watch that, are you.

Survivor: Nope.

BringTheRain: Not a chance.

ElectricBlue: No.

Optimust: To err is human, to forgive is beyond some.

Faithful: I like 9 paired with its friendly cousin, 6.

BrassEagle (moderator): BeeFF, I delegate the thumping to you.

Camaro76: Aw! She gets all the fun!

BeeFF: One step ahead of ya. *THUMP*

* * *

Now that finals were behind me and I'd gotten enough sleep to think in coherent sentences, I really wasn't buying Leo's and Sam's line about this all being some kind of massively lame attempt at role-playing. For one thing, what was the point? For another, no one could be _that_ random by trying. It was a gift that came or it didn't, and our conspiracy trio had learned that the hard way on our own site. But if Leo and Sam weren't being level with us, then what was _really_going on here?

_They_ were conspiring against _us_! The realization was like a bitch-slap. If I couldn't trust Leo, who _could_ I trust anymore? Not Sam, that was for sure. Same thing with Cam, _especially _if he was both an alien and the blogger. Sharsky? That was kind of a grim prospect.

Before I could get myself really freaked out, my computer bleeped gently and popped up a chat window from PChiMomhotmail(.)com, wanting to know if I was up for her early yoga class now that I'd had restorative rest. Dang notifications. In the spirit of not getting a lecture on my health habits, I said yes and went back for more.

Mom believed in the kind of enlightenment that made her do yoga at 7 a.m., but she didn't believe in encouraging capitalism to find her inner peace, so I found myself with about 30 middle-aged women in lotus positions at the rec center. I was easily the youngest one there and one of only two guys. But it was one of those things where the thought would count and Mom would bask in the glow of having such a thoughtful son whenever my attendance came up in conversation.

Unfortunately, in the middle of Downward-facing Dog, my phone bleeped.

"_Focus,_" Mom hissed in my direction. For her, this was as serious a breach of protocol as farting in church. "And turn that off."

I slid it out of my pocket and checked the text during Half Lord of the Fishes.

_So, we on for tomorrow? -L_

I wasn't ever going to focus on my chi now, so I did the respectful thing, texted _TTYL_to Lian and turned it off. Mom gave me an approving nod the next time she unpretzeled herself.

As soon as class ended, I booked it to the hallway. Mom was still rolling up her own personal yoga mat, so I had maybe a minute and a half before she came looking for me.

"Yo," Lian said in a slightly distracted voice.

I had caught her at the computer. She wasn't usually this robotic. "Hey, it's Fassbinder."

It was a comfort that her voice got a _little bit _perkier at that moment. "Hey," she said cheerfully. "You still up for a wild night tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, trying not to blush or stutter or do something else that would show off my teenage status. "Me, you, Italian food. How does that sound?"

"I'm down with that." There was a long silence and I suspected that if she hadn't had me on mute, I would have heard a drum solo of typing. "I've got a raid at 8:30 and Dad wants me to get an early night so we can hit the stores early. How does 7 sound?"

I bit back a comment about fitting me into her busy schedule, but it was kind of a sign of affection that she wasn't calling this off to get an early jump on the raid in the first place. Especially since Sharsky was in her guild and would give her lots of hell for ditching him.

"Seven's good," I said. "I'll pick you up."

There were a billion instructions for Date #1, but now that Lian and I had Taken It To The Next Level (i.e. she hadn't gone for a restraining order or stopped returning my phone calls yet) the roommates were even worse than usual. Even though Alienboy was the only one with a legitimate, non-WoW girlfriend, Leo and Sharsky claimed to be experts in What Women Want.

First rule of fine dining, Sharsky claimed, was to leave the laptop at home. Sam corrected him to claim that cell phones were off-limits, too. If it was web-enabled, received texts and was anything described as 3G, it was the kiss of death to a date.

Second rule of getting some was to take her to the fanciest restaurant I could afford after taxes, airport food and boredom shopping. The gift card to Olive Garden was nice, but it was kind of insulting. I mean, what did they expect, that I was going to show her a romantic time at the Burger King on Wilcrest?

The problem was, I was dressed up according to some very specific instructions, financially prepared and still stuck hauling Lian out on the town in a Dodge. It wasn't as bad as Dad's '83 Mercedes. At least with the Charger, the sunroof wouldn't stick, the air conditioning worked and it couldn't be heard a mile away.

Lian didn't seem to mind the Dodge, though. She kept up a pretty one-sided conversation about a New Year's retro-Nintendofest that Jakwon was planning. For her, casually inviting me to come get my butt kicked on Street Fighter II was practically like a love letter. Things were golden so far.

Vaguely Italian music wafted from the hidden speakers of the Olive Garden as I opened the door for her, the texts from Leo and Sharsky about how chicks dig manners still fresh in my mind. She smiled at me before walking under my arm with inches to spare.

I walked up to the maitre d' and flashed the best smile I could at the moment. "Reservation for Fassbinder, party of two," I said.

The maitre d' glanced up, looking as glassy-eyed as if he'd just marathoned the Naruto filler episodes.

"Melissa, table 10," he said to one of those perky blondes who show up at every restaurant.

Melissa grabbed two menus and showed us to a table near the middle of the restaurant. I would have preferred a private booth or something; I didn't like to have an audience for this kind of thing, which was why I'd double-checked my shirt for hidden cameras or wires that Sharsky might have 'accidentally' left in there.

I was practically in my chair before I remembered another thing that all three roommates had agreed on. I ran into the edge of a chair on my way to pull out Lian's chair. ""Lemme get that," I said before she could go all feminist and seat herself.

She gave me a weird look, but sat down and scooted herself in. "Thanks."

I shrugged and sat down. "You'll find I'm full of surprises."

I spent the next couple of minutes trying to get Leo's Spanglish pronunciation out of my head so I didn't sound like a complete 'tard ordering. Lian, on the other hand, spent 90% of those minutes staring at the drinks menu and then glanced at the first page before snapping the menu closed.

"So... what are you ordering?" I asked.

"Um...I think I'll take...a garden salad. A side salad."

"And then...?" I prompted.

She blushed a little. "Just salad."

There was something weird about that. This was the girl who thought of herself as a doughnut connoisseur and had a healthier appetite than most 90-pound midgets could even imagine. Either she was going for 80 pounds or something was up.

"What about you?"

A nervous chuckle escaped me; I was paying more attention to her order than mine. "Oh, haven't decided yet. Still browsing."

Looking at the double digits on both sides of the decimal points usually made me check to see if I could split this up over three different credit cards and a ten, but I had spent all of my layover in Atlanta editing one thing or moderating another and Mom had kept me well-fed so far. I hadn't been conscious enough to do boredom shopping, so I still had my whole Christmas bonus, plus the card that brought us here in the first place.

"So, garden salad?" I asked.

"And a water." She glanced at the menu.

"I'm not letting you get away with that," I growled.

"Yeah," Lian snickered. "You're going to force-feed me? Make me splurge and get spaghetti?"

"Yeah, but you're ordering like us on an off weekend," I protested. "Live a little."

She had reddened a little before, but now the red kicked it up a notch. "It's fine," she said.

I was torn for a minute. I had the option of being gallant, which I was planning on being anyway, but she seemed to be a little embarrassed by the whole conversation. Maybe she was the one freaking out about the double digits.

"Are y'all ready to order?" Melissa asked as soon as she circled around this way. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"San Pellegrino for both of us," I said before Lian could answer. "You wanted water, right?"

I immediately regretted it. _Let her order first, _rolled across my vision. And Lian gave me a death glare worthy of Aurra Sing.

"After you," I corrected myself.

"Garden-fresh salad," she said firmly. "Bleu cheese on the side, LOTS of croutons."

"And then?" I challenged.

"That's all," she answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

I shoved the menu back in her direction. "Take another look," I commanded. "I've got this."

She looked momentarily torn between being insulted and being grateful. I ordered the artichoke-spinach dip and the mushroom ravioli appetizers, stalling to give her time, but when I turned to her again, she said, "I'll just share, if it's okay with you." I gave her a Look, and she added, "Gotta save room for dessert."

"I'm gonna hold you to that,"I promised her.

She rolled her eyes. "Or what, we'll settle it over Streetfighter?"

"I can come back if y'all aren't ready yet," Melissa awkwardly said, looking completely baffled by our conversation.

"Just get us started with the appetizers," Lian answered.

"Yeah, and we'll let you know when we decide on the rest." This was so not going the way I'd planned.

"Are you sure?" Lian asked.

"I'm _sure," _I said firmly.

Geez, if she put up this much of a fight about not going Dutch, a goodnight kiss was gonna be _hell._

"I've got this," I repeated.

Before she could object again, I whipped out my Christmas bonus. Well, not exactly,. I mostly whipped out my bank card and gift card with a manly "Phshooh." It was a pretty sweet move and from the look on her face, I'd managed not to look like a total poser doing it.

"Wow," Lian deadpanned. "Got any other magic tricks?"

"This..." I waved the gift card. "...Is called a corporate expense account. I've got all of this covered."

She didn't exactly applaud or swoon, but she grinned and looked vaguely impressed. That was enough for now. And when Melissa got back with the San Pellegrino, Lian decided on the mixed grill.

"So you guys make enough to clean out Best Buy, but you still have enough for an 'expense account?'" Lian raised an eyebrow. "Just how much gambling did you take advantage of?"

I shrugged. "Never ask me about my business."

"I'm your designated hacker," Lian pointed out. "It's my business, too."

"And how'd you know about Best Buy?" I asked.

She chomped a breadstick with a little too much enthusiasm. "You probably don't kiss and tell, but Leo's a different story."

"Kiss and tell?" I warily wondered.

She waved me off with that annoying breadstick. "Deal-hunt and brag. Whatever."

I relaxed into my seat, relieved. If Leo had kissed her before I made it through our second date, I would seriously have gutted his hard drive. With a flame-thrower.

"Anyway, what all do you have planned over the break? There's that party with Jawkon and a Life Day party with the local Star Wars garrison I was thinking of going to, if I can come up with a good costume. Oh, and if you're feeling adventurous, my cousin-in-law just opened an authentic Mexican restaurant - and I mean _authentic _with brain on the tacos instead of cheese. Wanna go?"

"Sure," I answered, even though I'd prefer Tex-Mex. "I can handle authentic. I've got two roommates who were possibly abducted by aliens."

"And it would be great prep for the Zombie Apocalypse," she pointed out.

"What I'm saying," I said suavely, "is there's not much that freaks me out anymore."

"I figure we can go after Christmas to give me time to cash in the really expensive but pointless sweaters my grandparents send me. I mean, yeah they're in New York, but this is _Texas_. Why on Earth would I need sweaters?"

"How much does it cost?" I wondered, just so I knew how much to reign myself in on New Egg.

"Nah," she protested. "I've got it. You paid for our get together tonight, so it'll be my turn then. We can talk about me buying into your squee-and-gambling operation."

"_I'll _treat on our next date," I insisted.

She blinked and furrowed her brow in confusion. "Um...this is a date?"

I suddenly felt queasy in a way that brain taco couldn't touch. "Yeah...? At least, that's what I thought."

"Really?"

This was getting embarrassing. "What did _you _think it was?"

"I dunno." She frowned thoughtfully. "Not personal, just...business. Like a business dinner?"

I just sat there, stunned as I realized her reality and mine just collided like a planet and a comet.

"A _friendly _business dinner?" she corrected, only this time the question mark was her trying to fix things.

"Yeah. Sure," I said, grasping at straws. "Friendly business dinner. Why not?"

Melissa showed up with our food a couple minutes later, and we ate the rest of the meal in awkward silence for the most part. I paid the tab (giving the server a decent tip - after all, it wasn't her fault tonight sucked) and walked Lian to the car. She turned on the radio and tuned to K99.5 Mix. Nice, generic, wouldn't-offend-anybody music. The only time she talked to me after the restaurant was when she was getting out of the car in front of her house. "Um...thanks."

"Welcome," I mumbled.

She shut the door, and I watched her walk to her front porch wondering what the hell just happened.

I wasn't one to wallow in my own pity, but I was pretty much wiped out by the time I got home. Mom had either read something in my aura or realized that I was looking crestfallen, because she didn't grill me at all. Nancy was still at rehearsal and Dad was in his Fortress of Solitude, abusing his privilege to not grade on the curve.

I didn't even bother to check my messages after I faceplanted on my bed. I'd given the guys the 24-hour buffer zone to respond to the _Buzz_post and that meant that unless they actually called me, everything else was effing small potatoes.

I didn't know how long I lay there, but eventually, my phone started playing, "Pick up the phone, dude." It was Sharsky, kind of the last person I wanted to talk to about my suckage at love. But it was rude to screen his phone call and that quote got _real_annoying after the first five repetitions.

"'Lo," I grunted.

"Dude, man, _details_," he said. "Lian ditched the guild. How late did she stay?"

I'd made her miss something she loved. That made me almost as sad as getting pre-dumped in the first place.

"Sharsky, shaddup."

He obeyed for about a minute. That was completely predictable, since the guy was a voyeur's voyeur; it was part of what made him get along so well with Leo. What wasn't predictable was that he shut up and then changed the subject.

"So, how about them Red Sox?"

I hung up the phone, but him asking about a sport that wasn't even in season made me almost smile. When he called back five minutes later, I didn't ignore his call.

"Talk to me," Sharsky said in an almost sympathetic tone.

"She's never going out with me again," I stated.

"She said that?"

"Well, seeing as how she said we weren't going out in the first place, she kind of didn't have to." I rolled onto my back and started kicking the wall. "But yeah, she's never going out with me again."

"You don't know that for sure, man," my friend soothed. "Nothing's set in stone."

"Sharsky," I bit out, "I'm not in the mood for 'You'll love again' or 'If you can believe it' affirmations."

"Okay."

Sharsky only had two settings when it came to relationships: sounding like Leo or sounding like a self-help book. I could practically hear him flipping through his mental Bro's Handbook.

"That bad, huh?"

"I got away with a little dignity," I lied.

"Way to be," he said. "You owned your choices."

Apparently, he'd settled on the self-help book. I had to nip this in the bud before he went into life-coach mode.

"_Buzz_," I said with the same tone he'd used to talk about the Red Sox. "_District _effing _9."_

"Classic," Sharsky snickered. "If we ever get to guest-blog, I've got a few ideas about why we haven't been invaded yet."

"Yeah?" I kicked the wall a little harder. "Name the main one."

"_E.T."_

I paused in mid-kick. "Huh?"

"Think about it," he urged me. "One alien, completely harmless, even has healing powers and they frigging kill him off."

This was bad. Now I could almost see the comments on the post. NurseRatched would give us all a history lesson on how life forms exposed to foreign viruses don't have the same immunities as the native population. Spitfire would probably tell us that he'd developed insulin resistance from all the Reese's Pieces. Optimust would quote someone like Carl Sagan or Calvin.

"Haaaa," Sharsky said with a snicker. "It's got _you _thinking, too."

"I hate you sometimes," I muttered.

"Yeah, but not right now." He waited another ten seconds. "I'm not buying it."

"It meaning Leo and..."

"You know, _it." _I was about to add my own opinion, but now that Sharsky had changed the subject, he was unstoppable. His next sentence, if you could call it that, was all run together like something out of James Joyce and made as much sense. "All this about Optimust the kindergarten teacher and the RPG and mistaken identity and Alienboy and all his little roadtrips and how Leo's turned into this pod person who would take a bullet for the n00b we've only known a few months and you only get that kind of loyalty from, like, the _Manchurian Candidate_ so there had to be some _major _conditioning."

"I know and it all syncs up to what we know already," I burst in when he took a breath. "No way in hell are they pulling this out of thin air. If they were really an RPG, they'd have been spamming the blog when the Droid of Death thing hit. I mean, look at us. We frigging had to work around the clock just to stay afloat until the boss got back."

"Yeah, but there's no way they'll let us in now that they know that we know."

"But they think we don't know what they know and we know that they _know."_

"Yeah, but do _they _know that _they _know that we know that they know?"

I was getting lost in the pronouns so I stopped short and let an awkward silence hang for a few seconds. "Huh?"

"I don't know," Sharsky blurted out. "I kind of got lost in the moment. I don't think they know..."

"They being who?"

I could hear him sigh impatiently. "I don't think Leo and Sam know that we know for sure that the boss and Alienboy have known all along about the alien stuff. They think we know that they're in on the _Buzz, _but Sam and Leo don't know that..."

"I got it." I gave a little sigh of my own. "How long are we keeping this under wraps?"

"It's like I said," he reminded me. "If we don't play this cool, we're majorly screwed."

"Yeah, and if we start wigging, they might kludge things up so bad Steve Jobs couldn't get in again and _then _where'll we be?"

"Spending our nights with Netflix," Sharsky diagnosed gloomily.

"I might start finding Cami Rawlins funny," I added.

I heard a dull thunk that must have been Sharsky pounding his fist on the table. "_No, _dammit, we shall not fail!"

"Settle down, Captain America."

"Sorry," he muttered. "Heat of the moment again."

"We'll bust this wide open," I promised.

It was probably one of those few times when a rallying speech would have been appropriate, but my heart just wasn't in it right now. Sharsky took that as a sign to be annoying again.

"So, it was really that bad?"

Geez, it was worse than having a sister. "I don't want to..."

"Nutty!"

Nancy was back and ready to inflict damage. I dropped the phone and yelled back, "Yeah?"

"Lian's here!"

I snatched the phone up and heard Sharsky yelling something of his own: "GO! GO! GO! GO!"

I snapped the phone shut and bolted for the door. Then I remembered my duty to be manly, even in humiliation and I slowed myself to a slow stroll. I left the phone upstairs on the bed and checked my reflection for anything embarrassing. Other than looking like I'd swallowed brussel sprouts, I was looking fine.

Lian was lurking at the bottom of the stairs, her hands shoved into the sleeves of her hoodie and her chin tucked against her chest. At least she didn't look _happy_.

"Hey," I said casually.

"Hey." She unclenched her hands and had the decency to look me in the eye. "Want to go for a walk?"

If we went for a walk, there was a chance I'd embarrass myself in front of the neighbors. On the other hand, I could embarrass myself in front of Nancy and that was a hell I was _not _putting up with.

"Sure."

"Be back by ten and don't do anything I wouldn't do," Nancy called after us.

We ignored her. In fact, it was about two blocks before either of us spoke. For once, the girl who could only wax poetic about Mac vs. PC was the one to blab.

"Are we good?"

I actually didn't know what to say to that other than _hell, n o_and that just didn't seem very polite. I went with the old-fashioned option of shutting up until I had something intelligent to say.

"I mean, this isn't going to ruin anything..."

"No, we're not going to fire you just because you're just not that into me."

She turned a little bit red and looked either hurt or pissed. "That's not what I'm talking about. And you can't fire me because Leo's the boss. And technically, I don't work for you guys in any official capacity." She broke off in mid-rant, a little bit flustered. "That's _not _what I'm talking about."

"You said it's not personal, it's just business," I argued. "If I'm nothing but a business partner to you, what _else _are you talking about?"

This time, she took a turn about being quiet. "I never said you were nothing but a business partner."

"But you're not interested in me personally," I countered.

"That's not what we're supposed to be."

We both paused for breath and to pick a different way of arguing the same old thing.

"We're good...like we are," Lian said finally. "We're good the way we've always been."

"And you can honestly say you've never wanted it to be something more?"

"I had a math crush on you," she admitted, her voice a little more quiet now. "You beat _me _at State. But me and you..."

"It's not personal, it's business," I echoed.

"Yeah."

She kicked a crack in the sidewalk, looking a little angry with herself. Frankly, I was more angry at _myself_, since I'd read this completely wrong for who-knew how long. I was like some kind of dorky zitty moron who thought that the head cheerleader was obsessed with him.

But given the option of having it my way or having her as a friend, I was more than willing to make a concession.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "We're good."

"If this is unc..."

"Lian," I interrupted. "We're good. This won't ruin anything."

She grabbed me in a very sudden hug. It only lasted about five seconds, but it was the best thing that had happened to me all day.

"Thanks, Fassbinder," she said.

"Yeah, sure," I lied, trying again to sound casual as I let her go. "Glad we got that cleared up."


	26. Auld Acquaintance

Author's Note: This chapter ties in with chapters 28 and 32 of TTB. Hope you enjoy!

...

...

...

The Christmas pageant was more pageant than Christmas, of course. Lian let me sit up in the lighting booth with her and Colin for the whole thing, so I wasn't paying attention as much to Nancy's dance number as I was to Lian. I tried not to come anywhere near her so I wouldn't make her feel uncomfortable, but the good thing was that we didn't act like we had sticks up our you-know-wheres the entire time and she even let me man the colored cels for the spotlight. When she came over for after-pageant cookies, she spent equal time talking to me and Nancy; that felt like kind of a snub, but chances were that she was trying just as hard as me to keep all of this casual.

Christmas passed semi-quietly. Nancy insisted on trying out her new iHome stereo immediately and tortured us all until I snuck into her room and swapped her Miley Cyrus for some good old-fashioned My Chemical Romance. Mom immediately called a cease-fire and I went back to installing the new video card upgrade that Mom had gotten for my laptop. When that was done, I divided the amount of candy I'd gotten by the number of days I had left and worked out a rationing system. By the time Lian called to tell us all Sung Tan Chuk Ha (the only Korean holiday wish she knew), I had Skyped with Leo and put in a few mandatory hours in mod duties.

"So," Lian said once Nancy and the 'rents had gotten in their quality time, "you coming to Life Day with us tomorrow?"

It was tempting-they had a caffeine-only drinking game based on the Holiday Special and by the time Carrie Fisher started singing, we were all pretty hysterical-but I had other obligations.

"It's Boxing Day," I said. "You really think I'm not being dragged off to the mall by one or both the females in my family?"

"If you need me to make an excuse for you, I can," she offered in whatever counted for chivalry in a girl.

"Mom put off getting me winter clothing until she knew if I'd gain the Freshman Fifteen and now she thinks I need a different cable-knit sweater for every day of the week."

Lian groaned sympathetically at the thought of having to go anywhere near Abercrombie and Fitch. "What about tomorrow?"

"Hanging out with the mathletes who weren't trying to beat me at state."

"The day after?"

"Don't know yet. Can I get back to you?"

She went very silent for a second and I had the feeling that she put me on mute to cover up a sigh. When she came back, she sounded a little peeved.

"Are you trying to avoid me?"

"_What?"_

"I thought we were good," she grumbled.

"We are good," I said hastily. "I just don't have everything in my day planner. I'll figure something out..."

"But you're going to Jakwon's Nintendofest, right?" Lian interrupted.

"Of course," I said confidently. In my family, going our separate ways for New Year's Eve was practically a sacred tradition. We all agreed with Mom that it was a way to contemplate our resolutions without the pressure of the familial unit, but it basically meant that no one of us had to put up with everyone else's dumb plans. "How about we meet up on the 29th and work out our strategy then?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "I still owe you authentic Mexican food made by a half-Korean, half-German MBA."

"Brains included?" I teased.

"If you're man enough," she laughed. "Call me about it tomorrow."

It was the happiest I'd heard her sound since we left Olive Garden and as soon as I hung up the phone, I scrolled through my contacts and hit 'talk.'

"Yo, _Feliz Navidad_ and namaste, _mijo,_" Leo answered after two rings. "You missing me already?"

"Missing our flatscreen, more like," I said casually. "You got a minute?"

"Talk to me," he begged. "_Mi abuelita_ hasn't stopped trying to feed me in six hours and I've had about as much _mole _as I can take."

For all his whining, this was a Leo who was happy to be home. He was with his people, a family of genuine _compadres _who were just as pushy as him. When we got him back, he would be ¾ Spanglish and ¼ Bossman, instead of the other way around.

"So, I think we need to read Lian in."

"Yeah?" He said something in a rush in Spanish that ended with a burst of "Get _off_." He was either being really rude to his _abuela_or his 4-year-old cousin was trying to bother him. "Things go that good?"

"Sort of," I said. Only Sharsky had all the details. "I think she's got a right to know about this whole RPG thing, since she hacked the site for us in the first place."

"I don't know," Leo considered. "We talked to some of the boys yesterday and they weren't too happy about us letting a coupla punks in on our game."

"We're not _in _on anything," I protested. "We're just reading and rolling on the floor a bit."

"A bit?"

"Okay, a lot," I admitted. "But you know she won't butt in. She should know that we're not chasing down some rogue aliens anymore, though."

"_Mami, no. Eso es mi..._MA! Can't someone else babysit?" He came back, sounding distracted. "Okay, here's the deal. You get Sam and Sharsky on board with this and I'll back it up. Got it?"

"Thanks, _mijo_," I chuckled. "Try not to kill any cousins."

He snorted. "So, you going to see her again?"

"Yeah..." I hesitated. "About that..."

"Details," he barked.

"Actually, I need a favor."

The background noise faded a little and I figured he'd gone outside or was hiding in a bathroom. "Another one?"

"This one's different," I promised. "See, she wants to go to her cousin's restaurant on the 29th and I need some help..."

"You're meeting the fam?"

"I met the fam years ago."

"So, you need some threads advice," he guessed next. "Get on Skype again and I'll pick out your wardrobe."

"No, no, no." I waved my hands even though he couldn't see. "We're going to this Mexican restaurant and I need you to teach me how to eat with a tortilla."

Leo let out a long-suffering sigh a moment later. "You've got four days?"

"Yeah."

"I've seen you eat," he grunted. "It'll be cutting it close, but I think we can do it."

...

By the time we got through tacos de ceza and lengua rellena and everything else Lian dared me to eat, I still hadn't gotten a 'yes' from the boys. I did manage to only drop carne asada on my shirt twice, but Lian seemed to have a good time and let me use a fork for the flan she bought me. I walked her to her door again and promised to pick her up at 8 on New Year's Eve. Being her friend-zoned chauffeur was hell, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was kind of getting used to it.

Sharsky finally got off WoW long enough to text me a "Hell, yeah!" that night. It was 7:30 on December 31 when Sam finally called me back after my fifth text of the holiday. "You have my blessing," he said solemnly. "I think we can trust her more than we trust Sharsky."

"My thoughts exactly," I sniggered. "Thanks, man."

He had no idea what I was going to tell her, since he was still probably convinced that we were buying into the RPG story. I had my own agenda, but I called Leo immediately.

"You got the votes?" he asked..

"I got the votes," I confirmed. "Sharsky says 'hell, yeah' and Sam says 'you have my blessing.'"

"He would," Leo snickered. "Do you need me on speed dial in case..."

"I got this."

"_Vaya con dios," _he said.

The party was a billion kinds of awesome. I beat Lian's high score on Tetris after one game and then let her thrash me at Street Fighter II. Even Leo would have been impressed by my chivalry. With her skillz, it wasn't like I could really avoid losing anyway. When we'd had enough of MarioKart, she dragged me to the basement where Lian's friend Emily was starting up _Batman Begins. _

"I got _Dark Knight _for Chanukah," she announced. "We'll watch that next."

"Awesome," I said. There was nothing like a good action movie to end the year. "Dibs on the beanbag chair."

Lian sat on the couch behind me and periodically kicked me in the back when she found something funny. Halfway through _Dark Knight, _though, Emily hit pause.

"Time to get ready for the countdown," she announced.

This being a mathlete-organized event, it was alcohol-free. We weren't boring, but we didn't want to kill off brain cells before the new term started. I grabbed another cup of Dr. Pepper and positioned myself within earshot.

"I've got something to tell you," I said under my breath.

Lian looked over her shoulder so quickly I was afraid she'd get whiplash and gave me an alarmed look. "This isn't the time for a declaration of love," she blurted out.

"No, not that," I said just as quickly. "You'll like this."

It took some doing, but I'd figured out how to tell her everything she would want to know about our _Buzz _discoveries in thirty seconds. I finished as the rest of the crowd were yelling "One..." and she threw her arms around me as soon as they got to "Happy New Year."

It wasn't the midnight kiss I'd been hoping for, but she was hugging the life out of me at midnight and that was good enough. All it had taken was letting her in on a few little secrets.

We didn't see each other for a couple of days, but Lian IM'd me off and on as she re-read the _Buzz _with Sharsky's and my theories in mind. We even got together at the Burger King on Wilcrest for shakes and conspiring the weekend after New Years. She was cool with keeping all this from Leo, and she totally wanted me to send her a few pics of Cam just so she could see what a maybe-alien looked like in a human suit. I promised her I would, feeling more than a little bummed that she wanted pictures of Tall, Blond and Blogger instead of me, but I was the one she was stealing fries from, so I took what I could get and told myself it was good enough.

My winter vacation ended much better than I thought it would, but it wasn't enough holiday cheer to keep me feeling all warm and fuzzy when I returned to college. Being the sadist that she was, Cami scheduled her employee orientation five days before the start of classes and at least a couple of days before everyone else would be coming back to the dorm. My flight arrived at 10 P.M. and so it was pushing midnight when the taxi dropped me off on the empty campus. Figuring the night was young, I got to work. Leo left me marching orders via email, but I took my own sweet time, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Bossman even had the decency to let me sleep in a little and didn't call until after noon the next day. "So?" he demanded when I picked up.

I could almost hear Leo waggling his eyebrows, but the number of syllables he added made the question suggestive enough.

"So I told her," I said. "At midnight."

"And there was smoochie-smoochie?"

I was glad I hadn't tried that. I didn't want anything I ever did referred to as "smoochie-smoochie."

"There was hugging."

"Ugh." He was silent for a few seconds and I got the impression that he'd muted me for purposes of saying a few more things. "What a waste of a secret."

"Well, maybe if you'd given me something better to work with..."

"Not a chance, _mijo_," Leo said glibly. "I'm not the one calling the shots on the game. You'll have to whine at Alienboy."

"Alienboy's in charge?"

"No, but he's besties with everyone," he countered. "He might have an in that I don't."

I didn't doubt it. Leo was the king of conspiracy theories, but Sam was most likely to have actually been probed at some point. And he was our link to Camaro76.

"How's the crib?"

I don't know what he thought would have happened to our dorm room since we left, but the first thing he'd had me do when I got back into town was do an inventory. Everything was still there and I had even beta-tested our shiny new TV before the boss called.

"Intact," I reassured him. "Any other things on the to-do list?"

"Nothing around there," Leo said, "but you're on call tonight for modding the forums. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Naw." I opened the mini-fridge and grabbed some of my Christmas stash. "I've got my employee orientation tomorrow, but tonight is all about me, the flatscreen and anything my mom wouldn't approve of."

Everyone else would think that was something naughty, but not a single one of the DVD's I'd scoped out had to do with saving the earth, a spiritual journey or romance. The closest I was going to come was maybe watching a DVD Jakwon had burned from the original TRON VHS.

"Good boy." Leo sniggered. "Sharsky's got us covered until about nine, when he's got a raid with his guildies."

I made a quick run to Campus Convenience for a gallon of ice cream and made myself some Red Bull Floats to keep me awake for my late-night modding duties. It was pretty boring stuff, since people were still too busy playing Guitar Hero or Call of Duty to actually cause a problem and no aliens had crashed into the Chrysler Building yet.

When Leo got bored at three a.m., he relieved me of my post and I crashed for a few hours. What woke me up wasn't my alarm clock, though. It was the bloop of a post alert. Since it was only about 20 minutes before I had to be up, I didn't ignore it. I checked to make sure none of our webcams were on and plopped myself in my desk chair to check out what was up.

* * *

_**AULD ACQUAINTANCE**_

I wasn't going to post over the holidays with everybody together, but I don't think I can let it go without saying _something _here about him. So yeah...

I'll miss him. I miss him already. We had so much hope for the future. It seemed kind of fated, too, that we'd all have a new start like this at the beginning of a new year. Instead, we've had to lay another friend to rest.

I know he wouldn't want us to be sad - that's just not _him_ - and the Jazz funeral was a perfect choice. Still...my life will be just a little too quiet without him. I've done my grieving, but I don't know if I'm ready to write some blithe post about New Year's resolutions. So instead of looking forward, I want to look back. There are too many _auld acquaintances _I've almost forgotten. For me, this is a time for remembering, so without naming names, I want to offer a proverbial toast to the brother who raised me well, and to those who stood beside me as brothers and sisters after he fell.

Anyone else?

**Comments:**

NotTheToothFairy: To those who are as lost as our cherished fallen...there are no words.

BikerChick: Really, Camaro? You had to go and do this to us _now_? I'm going to give you a few dents later, but...yeah, it does seem more fitting. *sigh* ...To my oldest sister, who never lived to see our home destroyed. To my first and wisest creation, whom we all - greatest to least - still grieve. To my youngest sister, whose laughter lifted us all and who fell defending the defenseless. To my extended kin who have been severed from me. And last but not least, to my lost sister, who had better find her way here before her favorite walking weapon mopes himself to death. Happy now?

Camaro76: Not really.

BringTheRain: Daaamn, C76. You're cruel.

Survivor: To warriors who died beside me as brothers, no matter where they came from.

Optimust: To the one who, as they say, was my better half, and to her sister who stands with valor in her stead. To those who preceded me in both life and death. To my severed kin who still stand with me. To those who never had a choice.

Spitfire: (to NtTF) That's almost poetic. *hugs*

ConSlayer: You do realize you just insulted him, right? There are _no _words for it - in any language.

* * *

I scowled at the screen, rubbed my eyes, and read the post again, shifting gears from 'peace and quiet' to 'huh?' Somebody died? One of the _Buzz _posters DIED? I frantically refreshed the screen, trying to figure out who.

* * *

NurseRatched: As Optimust said, to my better half and to her sister who stands with generosity in her stead. To brothers who lived with courage and died with honor. To the many, many sparks of life that extinguished despite all I could do.

OneManAlone: To those who sacrificed in life and death to protect people who didn't even know they were in danger.

ElectricBlue: To my kin, all of whom have perished, and to those few of us who live to mourn.

BeeFF: I take it things didn't work out. You'll have to fill me in with the full story later. But anyway, to the years lost to stupid mistakes and love that finds a way no matter what.

S&M: Ta bruthas we waz too young ta know and ta da ones what helped us even tho dey didn' halfta.

BrassEagle (mod): I could recite the numbers of the missing and dead, but more importantly, I remember the names. To them all.

* * *

I went through the list twice before I finally figured out who was missing - Faithful, Ladiesman and IncidentalSidekick.

I was pretty sure Sharsky was still asleep, and Sam was in some kind of cell service dead zone, so I called up Leo in a panic.

"Yeah?"

"Somebody died!" I blurted out. "One of the _Buzz _posters DIED at New Years. They were all practically having a funeral on the blog! And I can't figure out who croaked and I don't know how they died or anything. The only ones who haven't commented are Faithful, Ladiesman, and IncidentalSidekick."

There was silence on the other end for a couple of seconds and he suspiciously asked, "Optimust commented, though, right? And BeeFF and Camaro76?"

"Yeah. Everybody but those three."

He sighed. "Hold on, lemme pull the blog up..." Almost like an afterthought, he added "The guys are probably just trying to get all introspective, though it's kind of a tacky way to kill a holiday buzz."

Yeah right, I thought. Because I was SOOO not buying the RPG crap anymore. Playing along, though, I said, "Somebody got voted off the island?"

He snorted. "Something like that. My money's on Faithful, probably for propositioning BeeFF."

"Sounds about right."

There was silence on the other end for a good minute or so as Leo read over the comments. Finally he muttered, "The punks," though there wasn't any fire behind it. "I think they invented a likeable character just to kill him off and they're all making up sob stories trying to one-up each other. Nobody on the blog told _me_."

"Maybe it was _you _that got the boot_,_' I suggested.

"Not a chance in hell," he said confidently. "I got way too much dirt on some of them."

"So go post, already," I said, and as the words fell out of my mouth, I realized Leo had just narrowed down to three what his username was. It wasn't even a leap to suggest Leo was IncidentalSidekick: IncidentalSidekick already sounded like Leo, and considering his little slip before Christmas when he joked about signing for the TV with IncidentalSidekick... He was added about the same time as Ladiesman, so did that make him Sam? And Ladiesman and BeeFF were...together. I pulled up her profile pic and squinted at it. BeeFF and Mikaela were both brunettes and, from what I could remember from the one time I met her, kinda looked alike. Leo, Sam, Mikaela, Cam...No way! Was Mikaela an _alien _sex goddess? Sam was one lucky SOB.

"Yeah, I should," Leo agreed. "You good to take over modding again?"

I shook myself out of my stunned stupor. "Sure." It was still slow on the forums, so I'd have plenty of time to update the org chart. It'd be a bonus Christmas present for Sharsky.

...

My sneaky creeps known as roommates were back when I got home from the Cami-run scheduling meeting. I was set up to be the go-to guy for anyone needing help after 8 Monday-Friday and was on duty every other night-before-exam. Since I wasn't a TA, I didn't have to have office hours or be the coffee boy anymore, but I wasn't allowed to screen calls from Cami unless I was an in an actual coma.

With all of that weighing on my mind, I was ready to faceplant on my bed, but I opened the door to find the TV blaring and four large pizzas open on the floor. It was the closest to happy I'd been in a week. Their greetings were incoherent, but I could tell that Leo had been back in the Valley for too long. I didn't understand a single word of his.

"Good to see you, too," I said casually. "Whadja do, carpool?"

"We were all getting in about an hour apart from each other," Sam explained, "so we just hung out and let Sharsky hit on people at baggage claim until Leo showed up."

"I know how to say 'go to hell' in Portugese now," he boasted like a toddler showing off his big boy Underoos.

"That's not all," Leo said. "Show the man your skillz."

To my surprise, Sharsky pulled a straight face and purred, "Salve, puellae, quid est signum tuum?"

"Huh?"

"This _chamaco _has got his jones on for one of those Classics Studies chicks from the common room," Leo said. "He got one of his nerd friends to teach him how to say, 'Hey, girl, what's your sign?' in good old Roman."

"I'm..." I was still a little bit confused, not by the Latin, but the idea that anyone had a jones for ANY of those girls. "So proud?" I finished lamely.

"Speaking of which, how's _Cami?"_Leo asked with a smirk.

"There was no smoochie-smoochie," I deadpanned.

"Well, if you've given up on Lian..."

"I haven't given up on Lian," I interrupted. "I'm just respecting her boundaries."

"Good for you, man," Sharsky said, standing up so he could give me a bro hug. "You'll love again."

I smacked him upside the head, knocking his baseball cap askew. "So, what's up for tonight?"

"Lying low, my man," Leo said. "It's gonna take about four more cans of Red Bull for us to be back up to speed and we have to finish installing all the crap we got for Christmas."

I didn't argue, just dumped my bag on the floor and claimed the seat next to Sam. He was the only one not engrossed in his new vid card _and _he was next to the pepperoni pizza.

That also meant that when someone knocked timidly on the door-probably to tell us to turn everything down-I was on doorman duty.

It wasn't the RA or the neighbors. I stared stupidly at the person for a second before it clicked.

"Lisbeth?"

It was hard to recognize her. For one thing, she wasn't crying. For another, she was practically hiding behind a huge freaking gift basket like the ones you see on game shows for the people who didn't win the showcase showdown. The part of her face that I could still see turned slightly red.

"Hey," she said casually.

Before she fell over or sprained something, I took the basket and set it down. She seemed to get an inch taller now that she wasn't hauling that thing around.

"Hey yourself. You look...happier."

"Yeah." Her blush turned the color up a notch. "I passed, no problems."

"Awesome."

After a few more seconds of staring stupidly at her, I stepped to the side. "You wanna come in?"

"Sure."

I hit the mute on the TV as soon as I passed by and the rest of the roomies looked up to protest. As soon as they noticed we had company, they all tried to straighten their posture and possibly look less like slobs.

"Guys." I gestured. "You remember..."

"The Borg," Sharsky blurted out. "You look different. Not all splotchy and stuff."

I was going to have to kick his butt in something for that.

"That's sort of why I'm here," she admitted, bending down to pick up the forgotten gift basket. "I wanted to say thanks for your help. It's not much, but..."

"Omaigaaaaaaaaaaad," Leo breathed. "Are those muffins?"

"Yeah." She glanced at me. "I made them."

"You have an _oven?_" Sharsky asked.

"You know how to use it?" Sam added.

"Every dorm has one," she pointed out. "Don't you guys ever..." She trailed off, taking in the scene of a pizza per techie. "I guess not."

"I can make ramen," I offered.

She set the basket on the nearest desk and we grouped around to inspect it. It looked like she'd Googled "gifts for geeks" and bought anything under ten bucks that was listed. There were new cables, a Yoda thumb drive, caffeinated soap and, best of all, a gift card to the pizza place we always used.

"You didn't have to," I said, honestly touched.

"Yes, you did," Sharsky interrupted, scooping up a handful of things and retreating to his own desk. Before I could interfere, he dug out his 'toolbox' and cracked open the thumb drive. Lisbeth went from pink to white in about two seconds flat.

"No, no, no!" I said and stepped in front of him to slap his hand away from it. "We just got it, dude!"

Leo took the opportunity to reach around me and nab one of the goodies. "Mmm, what is this?" he said around a mouthful.

"Caramel Apple muffins with fresh apples, dragee and caramel mixed in." Lisbeth bounced on her toes.

"Drag what?" Leo looked at his muffin in suspicion that it might turn him to wearing frilly dresses.

"Dragee - medieval spiced sugar," she said matter of factly, as if most people knew about arcane cooking practices. "You find it at the Revels every year."

She was met with the sort of look we were often given when discussing 'phase variance in the plasma manifolds' with non geeks.

"Good," he muttered.

I picked up a towel with a bloody-faced rabbit on it, at a loss how this fit in. I held it up for her.

"We were learning about Python?" she said earnestly.

At the bottom I could see Monty Python's logo.

After a few minutes of awkward silence she added. "Monty Python...Python...Professor Langstraad talked about it last semester..." There was another long silence in which I tried to find the joke in it and she tried to not look sheepish. Finally, she said in a small voice, "My brother said you'd get it."

"Yeah." I said to say something. "Cool."

She was a sister to a techie, not a Lian but definitely a Nancy and that was something I could work with.

Then I noticed she was wearing cords and a light green button down jacket that showed that she was really a girl, not as evident in the baggy outfit I last saw her in. A girl had come by my dorm to give me food and gifts without my bribing. I wasn't sure what to do with this.

"Anyways," she pushed some her red hair back as she looked up at me, "thanks again for your help."

"At least the muffins are good..." Leo said shrugging.

"Don't mind him," I said over Leo, elbowing him. "Thank you for the stuff." Who knew if more food and stuff could be delivered if we were polite.

She waved and backed out the door, closing it behind her.

I waited until she was (probably) out of earshot before exploding. "WHAT THE FREAK WAS THAT?"

Sharsky dropped his half-cannibalized stash and looked both bewildered and guilty.

"You don't strip down a gift," I snapped. "And you sure as hell don't do it when the giver is standing RIGHT THERE."

"Sorry, my bad," Sharsky muttered, and inexplicably, Alienboy started sniggering. Sharsky ignored him, going back to the thumb drive that he absolutely had no reason to dismantle. "It's not like she'd appreciate the art form of recycling electronics, anyway."

"That's not the point!" I slapped his hand hard enough to knock the drive out of his hand. "It's like harvesting organs when the family's still in the room."

"Way tactless," Leo agreed, still snarfing down the medieval-sugary muffins.

"And we've got a flatscreen TV!" I was unstoppable in my indignation. "Latest monitors! Lapel cams! We don't scrounge for parts!"

This time, it was Leo's turn to look blank. "But where's the fun in that?"

"Neither of you is ever getting laid," Sam announced casually. "Fassbinder, I'm on your side."

At least the one who actually had girl experience knew what I was talking about. On an impulse, I bolted for the door and wrenched it open, running to the window at the top of the stairwell. Lisbeth was nowhere in sight, probably having fled from the crazy electronics-murderers.

My urge to gallantly share a muffin with her died right then and there.

I inventoried the rest of the gifts as soon as I got back to the room. She'd gotten us bacon-flavored Cheetos, which I decided to leave for Leo the meat-lover. Everything else was pretty normal. She'd gotten me a six-pack of Red Bull to replace the one that I'd given her on _that day_. It was practically an inside joke.

The only befuddling thing was the baggie of mush that came with a schedule full of instructions like "Day 1: Mush bag" and "Day 5: Add 1 cup of flour..." I Googled Amish friendship bread and sacrificed a little bit of dignity to call Mom and make sure I was reading everything right. She didn't ask questions about _why _I felt the sudden urge to wear an apron, but I decided to follow the weird little instructions and as soon as I'd mushed the bag for Day 1, I hid my science project behind my monitor so no one would throw it out.

Classes weren't supposed to start for another two days, so Sharsky and I had a pre-term funfest while we could. After we stood in line for a couple of hours to get our books, we went to the nickelcade and got about a billion tickets that we blew on random crap like a neon green cowboy hat that we could give Sam for his birthday.

By the time we wandered back to campus, it was time for dinner and we'd finished off the muffins in about two hours flat, so we nixed the idea of ordering more pizza. Instead, we wound up finding Leo and Sam and two huge orders of chili cheese fries at the practically-deserted food court.

"So, whatcha got?" Sharsky added, dumping his textbooks on the chair I had planned on using and yoinking a chili cheese fry.

Leo ignored the question, but put his food in protective custody and whined, "Get your own!"

Sam, being the okay guy that he is, shared his instead.

"Plotting our route between classes," Leo answered as soon as he was sure we weren't going to attack again.

"We should so do that," Sharsky informed me around his mouthful of food. "Give ourselves options to tailing the hotties like you guys."

I'd been behind the Hot Freshman 55, but Leo went beyond any chica-chasing that I'd ever done. He could spot a hottie's daily route like he'd been stalking her for months. It was admirable, if more than a little creepy.

"So how were your holidays?" I asked.

"Well, you know, I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you," Sam deadpanned.

I waved a hand and rolled my eyes. It was all he'd tell us these days and I figured he'd finally open up when we blew the cover off his alleged RPG.

"How 'bout you?" Alienboy asked.

"Yeah, Fassbinder" Sharsky chimed in. "And how were your dates with…" He paused to waggle his eyebrows at me. "…Lian?"

My guys had been pretty good. They hadn't called me a billion times, they hadn't interrogated me during our Night of Slackerness from yesterday. But Sharsky had stooped to a new low and decided to sic the others on me. He was _so _not getting any friendship bread from me.

I blushed and Leo and Sam went from sniggering appreciatively to gut-busting laughing at my reaction.

"Come on, _mijo_," Leo prodded me. "Details!"

"You know we're not a thing," I said evasively.

"I know you came back without a girlfriend," Leo corrected me. "You never told us what went down."

"It wasn't a date." I had meant to mutter this cryptically under my breath, but I blurted it out instead.

"But you said..."

"I got my signals crossed," I admitted. "She doesn't want to wreck what we've got."

"So there's another guy?" Sharsky guessed.

Sam went as white as Lisbeth. "Oh, no you didn't!" he snapped. "Five minute time-out."

"But...!"

"That was a seriously douchy thing to say," Leo added. "Can't you tell the guy's in pain?"

"It was a joke," Sharsky protested. "I got all the dets from Fassbinder here..."

"Five minutes," Sam repeated himself.

He pulled back the fries. Apparently, you didn't joke about infidelity in front of loverboy. I wasn't even close to being that pissed off, just annoyed that Sharsky had put me up to this.

"She thought we were just, you know, business friends. And that works for her."

"And that works for you?" Leo asked.

"Not at first, but I think I'm okay with it now."

"So you going out for Mexican food was..."

"Me going out with her for Mexican food." I shrugged. "She picked up the tab."

Sam grimaced in earnest pain. "Ouch," he said sympathetically. "But you wanted to read her in."

"I wanted to show her we could still be friends."

Usually, that kind of comment would have earned me a bombardment of napkins and food, but Leo looked impressed. Sharsky had sullenly stalked off to get his own fries by this point.

"I'm proud of you, man," Leo said. "She kicked you to the curb..."

"There was no kicking," I protested.

"Spat on your broken heart..."

"Really, I think I'm gonna be okay."

"And you still kept your cool." He reached over to fist-bump me. "Courage under fire, man."

I kind of felt like I was being knighted for not screwing up instead of doing something right, but I had my guys' support. I fist-bumped him and got on with life.

The last Sunday of the holidays, Camaro76 put up a blog post about Improv Everywhere and all of them, including Faithful, commented on it, so even that little bit of excitement died. I wasn't sure if I was buying Leo's line about them trying their hands at one-upping each other in the sob story department, but without any more hints, it was anybody's guess who the alien stiff was.

The semester started. Classes were boring as hell. I slept through a billion pages of syllabi, but made sure I paid attention to which classes required a lot of participation. I wasn't bowing and scraping to anyone else after what had happened with Langstraad.I even got a girl's number after she caught me baking my friendship bread in the dorm kitchen I'd never really noticed. Since the first tests in Langstraad's courses weren't until the first week in February, I only had to deal with people who had somehow grown up with computers and never knew how to find the power switch.

Everyone else was in a bad mood, though. This was mostly because on the East Coast, even the hottest girls looked like the Abominable Snowman under all those sweaters and coats. I got good at recognizing people over their scarves or balaklavas. The campus paper did a front-page feature on how to prevent frostbite. Just when it couldn't get colder, I found out the hard way that my nose hairs get icicles when the temp was below zero. Leo learned to let his hair dry completely before going out so his head didn't look like an ice sculpture.

The miracle happened the fourth week in January. We woke up one Wednesday to find out that the temperature was not only in the double digits, but it was getting close to being above freezing. Instead of looking like a walking ski shop, I wore my favorite sweatshirt under my coat, wore only one pair of socks and talked myself out of having a picnic once the snow melted enough to see the grass.

The problem was that after that Friday, no one would be able to get a hold of Langstraad until his first brain-buster exam on Monday. I knew enough to brace myself for hysterical freshmen and even entertained the idea of calling my first hysterical freshman girl to find out if she needed help. She I at least knew how to handle. Friday-Sunday were going to be days from hell, so against all my instincts, I decided to lock down and do all my homework on Thursday. It was also good sense because it was my only half day of classes during the week, so I had no reason to leave the dorm after my 11:00 College Algebra class.

Well, there's that saying about the best laid plans of mice and men and I should have known, but I managed to get a whole hour of studying in before Cami's number turned up on my caller ID. By contract, I couldn't screen her phone calls, but I didn't have to be happy about it.

"Yeah?"

"Everything's canceled," she barked into my ear. "I'll be in touch with information on the new schedule once things have settled down."

"What?"

"Exam postponed for a date to be determined," she said very slowly.

"But..." I groped for words. "What?"

"Get some perspective," she snapped.

And she hung up.

I was confused as hell, but Langstraad had either had some kind of stroke or she'd done water damage to his computer. The important thing was I didn't have to cram everything into my free hours today. I saved my paper for Monday and went to check the forums.

If Cami had been tense, it was nothing compared to this. There was a new thread called East Coast Roll Call and it was nothing but people posting "Here and okay. Oh my god oh my god!" and variations on that theme. I sent something a little less hysterical-sounding and started trolling for info in other threads. Our peeps tended to get info faster than CNN-we'd scooped Shanghai before the news even hit the US-and I figured I could get a faster and more accurate update than if I had to wait for a website to catch up. Whatever was happening was going to it big, especially when we had people like Siobhan from County Limerick and Soon-kyong, our go-to for translation services in Seoul, checking in and offering support.

After thirty more "Oh my god oh my god" posts and a text from Sharsky just saying "WHERE THE EFF ARE YOU?" I decided to get a little alarmed. I turned around, grabbed the remote and surfed until I found MSNBC.

"...between classes at this Ivy League institution. There are no confirmed deaths and we cannot speculate on whether or not the gunman was acting alone, but we can confirm that shots were fired on the campus..."

And on big-screen TV, I watched security-cam footage of two of my roommates running for their lives in the middle of a school shooting that I'd been too wrapped up in a textbook to notice. I was dialing Leo's number before my brain even registered my panic. He didn't pick up. Sam's phone rang a half-dozen times before going to voicemail. I'd seen them trying not to die on national TV and they weren't picking up their phones. The only person giving me anything was Sharsky.

And there were no confirmed deaths. But they weren't saying if anyone was hurt. And just because there weren't confirmed deaths didn't mean there weren't...

Oh my god oh my god.


	27. Checking In

Authors' note: Hey, remember how much you liked Lisbeth last chapter? We kind of found her hilarious, too, and so we've asked our friend, Spiritofeowyn, to make a repeat performance. She had a lot to say about the Borg and you'll hear more about that later, but thanks to her for putting up with us for a second chapter!

* * *

I called Sharsky back after I had the presence of mind to shut off MSNBC but before I checked in on the forums.

"I'm home," I barked. "If you're not here in ten minutes, I'm sending out the search party."

"What search party?" Sharsky shouted back. "My parents are freaking because our roommates were just in the showdown at the OK quad! We don't have any backup!"

"Figure of speech!" I took a deep breath and gave myself a few seconds to settle down. "Where are you?"

"Hoofing it back from campus," he reported. "People are wigging, but I think I can get there in..." I could hear his gears turning. "Five minutes. Have a root beer waiting for me."

"Will do."

Red Bull was our drink of choice, but root beer proved that he was wigging just as much as the people blocking his way home. For Sharsky, root beer was practically his Mom's chamomile tea. I wouldn't go so far as putting it in his teddy bear mug. And there would be no Chips Ahoy, no matter how bad he was freaking.

He was home in four and a half, looking more scraggly and shaken than he'd sounded on the phone. I handed him the root beer without a word and he downed it in one long drink.

"Feel better?"

"Much." He belched. "What have you gotten done?"

"We're checked in on East Coast Roll Call, I've got Geoff modding as our backup in case we get preoccupied..." Translation, if we had to go hide in a bunker with our roommates' alien buddies, we would leave our site in good hands. "Have you talked to Leo?"

"No." He reached for the two-liter of root beer that we kept stashed for emergencies. Apparently, this was going to take a lot of calming down. "Sam neither. It's like he's screening his phone calls."

"That's okay, as long as he's alive to screen his phone calls, I don't care."

I got my own warm milk substitute, three Red Bulls and a handful of Doritos. "We know they're alive, right?"

"Yeah." He drained his mug again and set the it down before plopping into his computer chair. "I swear my parents are psychic. I'm still trying to figure out why da hell I'm running scared and they called to make sure I was heading to a safe place. They told me they saw Sam and Leo sprinting for cover on TV."

"And they haven't demanded that you duck and cover?"

He shrugged. "I told them you'd take charge. It's all good."

"Wait a minute. Your parents think _I'm _the responsible adult here?"

"Yeah."

"Holy hell," I said fervently. "That's _scary."_

"Tell me about it," he agreed. "So yeah. There's only one confirmed death and they're saying it's the shooter. Not releasing the name until the family's notified, but no one else died."

"Good." I sat down in my desk chair. "What now?"

"What, I'm the brains now?"

Actually, I wasn't sure I was thinking clearly and I needed someone else to back me up. It's why I'd spazzed out at Geoff earlier in the first place.

"You don't think you're up to it?"

It wasn't a challenge, just an attempt to be snarky as usual. Sharsky showed some signs of life at that-he booted up the computer and reached for one of my Red Bulls. If it meant that he wasn't going to hide under his bed, I'd let him have it.

"Do we want to check campus surveillance?"

"_No_."

We were guys who looked for hi-res gore from Shanghai and alien attacks in Vegas. On any other day, I would have said 'hell, yeah,' but right now, it felt wrong. Like wanting to watch an open heart surgery that didn't end well. My roommates were alive, even if we didn't know if they were okay, but someone else had died and I wasn't going to get a jones for all the gory details.

"Then I need to hack something," Sharsky declared, sounding peevish.

"Like what?" I irritably answered.

He shrugged. "Robowarrior's blog?"

If he were Lian, I'd have kissed him for that one. While he made a start I picked up my cell phone and tried calling Leo or Sam again. Predictably, neither one answered. Sharsky was muttering under his breath as he typed at warp speed. I blinked. Hacking! That _was_a good idea. Shoving a pack of Twizzlers off my lap I dove for Sam's abandoned laptop. He had mentioned as he yawned out of the room this morning that it was running a few updates and he didn't have time to wait.

If I could hack his computer I might get more information.

Before I could even open the computer top, though, my phone rang again. I hit talk without even bothering to check the caller ID and prayed for an annoying bossman _chamaco_ from _el valle _to be on the other end of the call.

"Talk to me, bro," I practically begged.

"Natipati?"

_Crap_. _Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap... _"Hi, Dad."

I had checked in with everyone from the perky RA to Geoff, but I hadn't sent so much as a text to the folks. I braced myself for whatever hell was about to be unleashed and simultaneously formulated a very sincere apology in my head.

"Where are you?"

"In our bunker," I blurted out.

"Bunker?"

"Dorm," I clarified. "Got undercover as soon as I heard there were shots fired."

Okay, it wasn't exactly the truth, but it was better than telling them that I'd been in a math daze when my evil boss called. They had raised me to be 'aware' of everything from starving Ethiopians to violence against women and they wouldn't be impressed if they knew that I'd had another life-changing moment thanks to MSNBC.

"And your roommates?" Mom interrupted, her maternal instincts on overdrive.

"Sharsky's here. We're okay and Sam and Leo..."

"I doubt it," Dad said sternly. "You're obviously in shock. I can refer you to Dr. Shumway from the psychology department should you need anyone to talk to. I don't have experience in this sort of thing, but I'm told that being a witness to such personalized violence can be as traumatic as being a victim of that violence. Do you have a pen?"

My dad was old-fashioned enough to think I still used a ballpoint, bless him.

"Guys, I'm _okay_," I said emphatically. "Honestly, I wasn't even there."

"You weren't..." Mom's voice dropped to a hush. "Is this the first you heard about it?"

"Not really, Mom," I said as calmly as possible. "Even if I hadn't heard the word from Sharsky and campus-wide e-mails, I knew something was wrong when my boss canceled work for the next few days. The girl lives for that job and this is about the only thing that could get her to take a day off."

"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL?" Mom burst out, surprising me.

Apparently, this was one of those times that I had to be more zen than her. She really was desperate.

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!" My voice cut across all of her worried babbling. "I kind of had other things on my mind, like Sam and Leo and whether or not they were okay."

For a few moments, they both went silent. Finally, Mom asked Dad, "Who are Sam and Leo?"

"I don't know," he murmured back. "His goldfish?"

"They were Sailor Pluto and Miyu," Mom reminded him, "and they died his junior year. Sam and Leo must be..."

"Roommates," I interrupted. "Sam Witwicky. Leo Spitz. They're alive, but they're not back yet and we've been ready to..." I censored myself. "...blow a gasket ever since MSNBC ran footage of them dodging bullets on the quad."

Bad move. Very bad move. I hadn't meant to mention MSNBC at all. Mentioning anyone within six degrees of separation from me dodging bullets was a pretty fatal mistake.

"Oh my god," Mom breathed.

"Your roommates were the targets?" Dad almost squeaked, all fatherly sternness shot to hell in his panic. "What sort of business are you mixed up in?"

"Kitten calendars," I reflexively answered in the stress of the moment.

"Don't get smart with me, young man!"

Mentally catching my breath, I tried to redirect them. "We don't know. All we know is they weren't killed and they aren't here. You can probably see why we're wigging."

"Let me talk to Sharsky," Mom said abruptly.

There was no arguing with her, so I kicked him in the back of the desk chair and held out the phone. "The 'rents want to check in with you."

To my surprise, he cornered me a moment later with a penlight. "No, Mrs. Fassbinder, I don't think his pupils are dilated. I don't know if he's clammy. Dude, are you clammy? I'm so not feeling your forehead. Well...but...that's...It's _creepy_...FINE."

He checked my temperature Mom-style and I swatted his hand away impatiently.

"Seems okay. He hasn't passed out or ralphed or anything. Kinda wigging, but that's pretty normal. No, I don't think he has a...' Fassbinder held my phone away from his ear as Mom started up again. "Dude, have you seen someone for an anxiety disorder and..." He listened for another moment. "Do you have enough yellow in your self-cultivation gua?"

Proof that Mom at least was recovering from her shock. I decided to save him then and yanked the phone back.

"Mom, I'm _fine_," I said. "The news makes it look worse than it really is."

"Listen to me, son," Dad interrupted. "I know we're not always on good terms where your spending habits are concerned."

Aw, geez, he was gonna get all touchy-feely on me. Maybe I _was _starting to get an anxiety disorder.

"I'm wiring money to your account immediately. I don't care what it costs, but you are not staying in a campus under siege this weekend."

"My dorm isn't even _close..." _I protested weakly.

"Call me when you have a reservation," he said, sounding more like a drill sergeant than I'd ever heard him in my entire life. "If you can't find one in the next thirty minutes, call me back. I can pull some strings, see if Bill Abshire has any room at his place."

"Got it, thanks, I'll be in touch." I was about to cut them off when I decided to have mercy. "I love you."

That would either make them think I was being obedient or make them worry that I was actually on my deathbed. I didn't have time to care which.

"SHARSKY!"

He grunted in return-he'd gone back to hacking.

"I gotta find a hotel room, bro," I announced. "How much do you need an indoor pool?"

He gave me a withering look to remind me that nothing but the words "Free in-room wi-fi" mattered. I stopped asking stupid questions and got to work.

I heard the dull thudding a few times before recognizing it. Sharsky had a habit of twitching his leg when excited, like a dog getting a belly rub, and I figured he was thudding his foot against the desk. Then I recognized that it was farther away than the desk. Then I realized it had a rhythm. Probably on the third repeat, I realized someone was knocking on the door.

I skidded across the floor, cheeks never leaving the desk chair. It took a few more skids to get to the door, but I finally pulled it open and found Lisbeth getting ready to knock again.

We stared at each other for a few seconds and then I said, quite suavely, "What, no muffins?"

Okay, not my best opener, but I had other things on my mind. Like my possibly comatose boss and Sharsky's progress on revenge-hacking Robowarrior.

"I wanted to make sure you guys were..." She was breathing kind of hard, but I couldn't tell if she had just finished running over here or if she'd been hyperventilating. "I saw MSNBC."

"Oh." I tried to look both reassuring and optimistic, kind of like a politician at a press conference. "They're alive. And near as we can tell, they're screening our phone calls, so they're probably okay."

She was also looking pale, well, paler. I apparently hadn't done a very good job at looking reassuring.

"I'm just making sure my friends are...you know."

All of us were in shock, hence the verbal problems. I definitely knew.

"Sharsky's dealing with it," I said, hooking a thumb in the direction of the guy who was currently chanting something about encryption and doing his woodpecker impression. "He was on campus, but he's okay. And I missed everything but...MSNBC."

Her next comment came out in a rush that sounded like she was spilling her guts to a therapist, but had the wrong content: "I know a lot of people don't want to stay here with well...everything that went on if you know what I mean...well you know what I mean but there's a billion students and about a hundred hotel rooms and if, I don't know, you can't find a place to stay and you need to well, you know, feel safe or just _safer_...well my family lives a few miles away and we've got a guest room, and we won't even charge but it's a lot better than trying to get the last closet at the Best Western on Schuylkill and, I don't know, do you need it?"

And she went back to hyperventilating and looking like she was going to toss her cookies.

I had the sudden urge to either hug her or give her the remaining Red Bull. I moved aside.

"Come on in," I offered. "We'll talk about it."

She shoved her hands deep into the sleeves of her fuzzy green sweater and slouched into our room. Sharsky glanced up and jerked his chin in her direction, but went back to woodpeckering the desk.

"Sharsky!"

"Busy."

"Lisbeth," I pointed out.

"Hi, Lisbeth. _Busy."_

I reached over and grabbed his keyboard. He stared stupidly and a little resentfully at me. It happened whenever I denied him a toy.

"Lisbeth," I repeated.

"Hi, Lisbeth," he repeated himself. "What's so fracking urgent?"

"Lisbeth..." I paused for emphasis. "...has very kindly offered us a place to stay until things settle down here."

He turned smoothly to face her. "What's your connection speed? Dial-up? Broadband? Who's your ISP?"

"Sharsky," I said warningly.

"Do you have your own T1 line?"

"I don't..." She obviously had to think back to our lecture on what a T1 line was. "...think so?"

"Thanks, but no thanks."

I grabbed more than his keyboard this time. I didn't go for the ear, but I hauled him out of his chair by the shoulder and dragged him to the server room.

"Be right back," I said. "If you'll excuse us."

I didn't wait for a response. I shoved a towel under the door for extra inability to eavesdrop and turned on my idiotic roommate.

"Girl."

"Lisbeth," he corrected.

"Girl wants us to stay over," I said very slowly. "Girl is our friend. Girl cared enough to check that we weren't _dead."_

"We'll give her a free thumb drive," he deadpanned. "One of the POSes she gave us, maybe."

"We're going," I announced.

"But the T1..."

"We'll survive," I snapped. "And if you ever want me to not delete your hard drive and rewrite seven times, you're going to behave yourself, you shaved ape."

"Hey!" He was probably up in arms about the implication that he shaved anything.

"You're not winning this one," I informed him. "I'm taking point."

"But _why_?"

"If you can't even make a power play without whining, you're not allowed to be the responsible adult. Even your folks think so." Even he couldn't argue with that one. "And she likes me best."

"Only because you give her caffeine."

I shrugged; I couldn't control the logic of the female human, just benefit from it. Before he could argue it any more, I pushed past him and flung the door open.

"We're in," I announced.

She looked mildly relieved. "Great."

"Now, how are we getting there. You don't have a...car, do you?"

"Worse," she said. "My dad's got a station wagon."

I could suffer the indignity of that just this once. I wasn't looking a...well, it wasn't a good idea to call a nice girl a gift horse, but I wasn't going to be rude.

"Just give us a few minutes." I requested.

"Sure." She hefted her own phone. "I'll call Dad, let him know to meet us here instead of at Sedgewick."

If she had stuck around, she would have been witness to the packing rituals of techies which were sometimes confusing to the layman. I spent the first two minutes packing my computer, my power cord, my backup power cord, my spare battery, my external webcam, system installation disks and a handful of thumb drives into my laptop bag. I had seen Moms pack diaper bags preparing for anything from a dirty diaper to ebola; I packed my portable tech the same way. Then I packed Sam's laptop, my phone charger, my wireless mouse and a can of compressed air into the bag I usually used to schlep my books. The books ended up in a haphazard pile near the door. Then I crammed two extra t-shirts, my all-purpose sweatshirt, a pair of spare underwear and my sweatpants in around Sam's laptop to keep it padded and added a rolled-up pair of maybe-clean socks, vaguely hoping they weren't growing any kind of fungus.

"Ready?" I asked.

Sharsky had packed like his Mom was making the decisions, with half his underwear drawer in the bag and shirts for every kind of weather. He crammed his baseball cap on his head and nodded emphatically. His laptop bag was bulky enough that I suspected he had his laptop, his netbook, his external hard drive, and his travel router.

He took one last look around and grabbed a six-pack of Red Bull then nodded. "Ready."

We trudged through the suspiciously silent hall and down the completely-deserted staircase to the front door and found Lisbeth waiting outside by what I assumed was her Dad's car. It was the kind of car that told me they'd put off buying an Audi so they could pay tuition, so I decided not to dis the car that I immediately started calling the Great White Whale in my head.

"Fassbinder, Sharsky," Lisbeth said, "this is my Dad."

I switched on my manners and extended a hand. "It's a pleasure, sir."

"Likewise," Mr. Borg said. "Is there something less formal I can call you, Mr. Fassbinder?"

"You seem nice enough, so I'm not making you call me by my first name," I said firmly. "And it's just Fassbinder."

"Sharsky," the shaved ape added.

"Larry," he said. "You boys need help with any of that?"

Him being 'nice enough,' I slung my million-ton tech bag into the back on my own. Sharsky asked him to hold the Red Bull so it didn't get shaken up. He looked a little bemused at that, but didn't question why Sharsky cared more about caffeine than he did about his duffel bag.

"Do you want anything from the dorm?" Larry the Borg asked Lisbeth.

"I can get by on what I've got at home," she assured him, "but can we stop at a CVS for a toothbrush?"

Sharsky and I looked at each other and blinked. Neither of us had packed any sort of toiletries. I experimentally ran my tongue over my teeth. Eh, I'd get by. I noticed Sharksy subtly breathing into his hand to smell his breath as he climbed into the back seat. Then he eyed the cans of Red Bull, the caffeinated man's mouthwash. I got in behind him, settling my tech bag beside me as a barrier between me and Sharsky.

Lisbeth turned around from the front seat as she pulled the buckle across her and said, "Mind if we make a quick stop? I don't want to find a parking spot just to grab a toothbrush."

"Nope," I said. "Do what you gotta."

Larry turned on the car and looked at us briefly in the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. We scrambled to put seatbelts on. "You boys sure you don't want to put some of that stuff in the back? There's plenty of space."

My hand tightened possessively on the handle of my laptop bag. I could see Sharsky looking from the Red Bull to the tech bag and back. Larry the Borg was a perfectly okay guy, but he didn't get it.

"Nope," we said in very creepy Borg-like unison. It was all I could do to not add something about the futility of resistance. It was also all I could do to not call Lisbeth's Dad 'Larry the Borg' to his face.

Lisbeth's family, it turned out lived about 15 minutes from campus and there was a CVS conveniently just a few blocks beyond. It was definitely a residential area and in a part of the city most university students never explored-too far from campus and clubs and too close to daycares and elementary schools.

Other than the stop for a toothbrush (and our hastily-grabbed deodorant and 'dental hygiene kits'), the ride was uneventful. Most of the delay was getting out without upsetting the balance of the tower of tech. Then we had a kind of silent conversation on how much of the stuff we wanted to haul around the neighborhood drug store. I eventually brought my bookbag-my computer was backed up so far the CIA probably had an involuntary copy of my winter schedule, but Sam's laptop contained unknown secrets and no way in hell was that staying behind. Sharsky left his clothes, brought the tech.

When we were sure we wouldn't leave greasy hair marks all over the pillows or gross Mrs. Borg out with our morning breath, we piled back in. As it was with all puzzles, it didn't fit together quite the same the second time and I found myself with one leg sort of pinned beneath me so I could make room for Sharsky's bag full of undies.

And then my phone rang. I leaned to the right just far enough to slide Sharsky's duffel bag onto the top of my backpack, slid the Red Bull six pack so I could brace myself against it and practically dislocated my shoulder trying to reach my back pocket. I got two fingers wedged into the pocket and managed to pull it out but just at that moment we turned and bumped up the Borg's driveway. My phone ended up near my left shoe.

At least I was able to see the caller ID from there. I took one look and knew I shouldn't have bothered. It was my Dad and since he knew I wasn't dead, bleeding or even having a panic attack, he could wait until we entered the Borg cube.

He called back twice more before I was able to pick up the phone call. "Thirty minutes," he said as a greeting. "Do you have a reservation number on hand?"

"Hi, Dad," I said obediently. "No time to talk. Talk to our cruise director, Larry."

I figured Larry could give him everything he needed to know-address, phone number, nearest police station and all that crap. Lisbeth's Dad took over the call without complaint and I focused on getting all our stuff under cover.

Sharsky, on the other hand, went straight to the guest room (without directions which meant when I caught up with him he was muttering about "Lisbeth's regeneration unit," which I took to mean he'd stumbled on her room) and started looking for outlets. He'd packed a couple of power strips in there so we didn't have to worry about having a shortage of power supplies and before Larry hung up with Dad, he was plugged in and trying to hack into the wireless network with the best signal.

I dumped my stuff on the wicker couch that I was assuming was fold-out and headed back to the living room to play nice guest. The group had expanded, so a lady I assumed was Lisbeth's Mom was next to make an introduction.

"Andrea," she said. "You must be Fassbinder."

"Guilty as charged." At least she didn't ask for a first name. "Pleased to meet you. Were the muffins your idea?"

"Larry's, actually," she said. "I'm more of a cookies person."

"Awesome," I said. "Thanks for the room."

"I'm glad you feel at home," Larry said, with a pointed look toward the guest bedroom where Sharsky was still trying to steal somebody's wireless.

Lisbeth half-facepalmed, half-hid behind her hand, peeking between her fingers to see what other social horrors were on their way.

Andrea nudged her husband and took over again. "We've got towels, hand towels, sheets, pillows, extra blankets if the radiator stops working again. What do you need?"

If I was going to sleep at all - and that was a big if with Sam and Leo still MIA - I was going to do my usual thing and face plant. I didn't care if there was a pillowcase or if the quilt matched the sheets.

I must have gone pretty glassy-eyed at that list; she sighed and smiled kindly. "I'll just get you two of everything, shall I?"

Lisbeth visably cringed and gave her mom an apologetic look. Andrea replied with a Look of her own, and I knew from my own experience they would have a conversation later about choosing good friends. It happened all too often around Sharsky.

"Thanks," I said.

"Actually," Sharsky called from the room, "do you have your network key?"

Lisbeth dropped her hand and rolled her eyes with a "what else could go wrong?" expression and I realized Sharsy's perfectly-reasonable question might be interpreted as rude by less technically inclined people.

'We want to check our email," I hastily explained to Andrea's involuntary glare, " and make sure all our friends are alright!"

They accepted this excuse and Andrea turned to Lisbeth, "If you don't know what it is, give your brother a call."

Lisbeth nodded. We all stood there for a long awkward moment before I said, "Thanks again for letting us stay. I'm..uh...going to unpack some of my stuff." I darted back upstairs.

Back in the sanctuary of the guest room, I saw that Sharsky had already tethered his phone to his travel router and was scouring the forums to see if there was anything new.

"Yo."

"Nothing," he reported. "Last message was Danny posting about a billion links to the vids from MSNBC. I consolidated and told him to stop spamming."

He was at least focused in a productive way. I picked up my backpack and eyed the only bed in the room.

"Um..."

There was no way of politely saying "I love you, man, but no way are we sharing." I set my bag pointedly on the desk and cleared my throat.

"Wanna flip for it?"

Sharsky looked up and after a few seconds, shook his head. "I'm getting it. I've got a bad back."

"From what?"

"Chronic WoW spina crampitis," he said with utter conviction and lack of convincing terminology.

"Yeah." I pulled out a quarter that I'd been planning on using for laundry one of these days. "Wanna flip for it?"

He gave me another weird look and I anticipated another made-up gamer disease to stake his claim to the one mattress in the room.

"Please," he scoffed.

"I'm not just letting you have it," I pointed out, "and no way are we both fitting on there."

"Please," Sharsky repeated. "We're gamers."

He pulled out something from a side pocket of his laptop bag and displayed the fourteen-sided dice proudly.

"We roll for it."

In best of three, I won. In any other kind of contest, he would have fought me tooth and nail and come up with at least two more -itises, but he was a gamer. The roll of the dice was as close as he came to the sacred. Sharsky sniffed and moved all the Red Bull to his side of the room.

I tugged Sam's computer out of my bag, spilling a few items of clothing on the floor. Sitting down on _my _bed, I opened it up.

_Now _I could get to work.

Cracking Sam's computer password was easy. It was just a matter of choosing between his birthday and his girlfriend's name and I guessed right that he picked the girl. Getting into his email-university or otherwise-was a little harder.

Lisbeth knocked on the door a few hours later inviting us to dinner. Sharsky was hard to pull away from his computer but he looked at Mrs. Borg like she was a goddess when she set a plate with pork chops, mashed potatoes and asparagus in front of him. Sharsky managed to redeem himself a little by oohing, aahing and generally worshiping her mad cooking skilz.

Other than that, the dinner conversation mostly focused on how we knew Lisbeth and eventually turned to how little we actually _kne w_about Lisbeth. It was hard to keep her siblings' names straight - I didn't think we'd really need to remember Lana, Lauren and Lars in a pinch, though - but Lukas was close enough to a few other things that it stuck just as badly as Larry the Borg.

As the talk drifted into what all Lisbeth's siblings were studying in college, Sharsky started fiddling with his phone under the table. He was across from me and I kicked him - even I knew that it was bad manners - but he just moved his foot and otherwise ignored me.

Andrea brought a plate of the cookies to the table, and Sharsky sucked in a loud gasp of air. I expected him to start gushing about her cooking again, but instead he slid the phone across the table to me. I caught it with the hand that didn't already have a cookie and saw the email notification. The _Buzz _had been updated.

I dropped the cookie back on the plate and jumped up from my chair, "Sorry!" I said to the Borgs' strange looks, "Our other two roommates - we haven't been able to get a hold of them for hours."

Lisbeth's eyes widened, since she'd seen the footage of Sam and Leo running as well, and she nodded shakily, looking as pale as she had when she had first knocked on our dorm room door. Sharsky and I didn't offer any other explanation as we bolted for the privacy of the guest room (but not before Sharsky snatched the cookie I'd dropped).

Behind us, Lisbeth said, "Their roommates were the ones the aliens were after in September."

_You have no idea_, I mentally told her.

We quickly pulled up the Buzz on our respective computers as Sharsky babbled, "It was posted six hours ago! I can't believe we missed it! It was buried under, like, a hundred other emails."

* * *

**CHECKING IN**

Just in case the brass have been too busy to give you all an update, we're safe and sound. The boy's helper (you know which one - the big scaredy cat) is getting him and his bodyguards admitted to the hospital now, mostly as a precaution except for OneManAlone, and even he's not in any real danger. I've been through worse, too. So the long and the short of it is we're okay. I'll check in again once things start to settle down.

**Comments:**  
BeeFF: THANK YOU, Camaro! The brass don't bother to tell me anything. Post again as soon as you can.

Camaro76: The Scaredy Cat was supposed to let you know. Sorry about that.

* * *

We clicked on refresh like crazy for a few minutes before we realized that was all there was going to be.

I sat back, my mind some weird mix of being relieved that Sam and Leo were alive and pissed that they still hadn't thought to call us. Sharsky's shoulders seemed to relax a bit, though he was scowling, so I figured we were on the same page.

Now that I knew for sure Sam wasn't dead, I could hack his email with a clear conscience. After all, if the aliens could hack his teleprompter, then we could hack his accounts. Until Sam himself showed up to stop me, anything on his computer was considered fair game.


	28. On The Mend

Authors' Note: Here's the next chapter, FINALLY! Sorry it took so long, but Eowyn77 has been unable to play hostess for our writing sessions for much of the last month and a half. Now that summer is winding down, though, we should be able to get together more consistently (which means more-frequent chapters).

The delay means that, once again, we have very unfortunate timing. More than half of this chapter was written on the Fourth of July, well before the recent heartbreaking incidents. We mean no disrespect to the individuals and their loved ones who were affected by the shootings in Aurora, Colorado or in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Our hearts and thoughts are with them. We try to write realistic stories, but sadly that means the tragedies of life and fiction sometimes overlap.

That said, we're glad to be writing again, and hopefully you're glad we are, too. ;)

* * *

I was on my fourth Red Bull since dinner and not even feeling the buzz anymore when 3 a.m. hit. It was a good call, since the forums were still going ape over the whole thing and SOMEONE had to take charge since Leo had decided to hunker in his bunker for the second time in as many semesters.

The problem with this MO, though, was the amount of Red Bull we'd brought with us. Sharsky would probably shave my head for drinking ⅔ of it, but the dork was snoring on the floor and had been for the last five hours. I could have sworn he actually sucked his thumb at some point, but I was too jittery to care anymore.

Once I'd escaped the well-meaning third-degree from Larry and Andrea and played the obligatory game of Yahtzee to take my mind off of things, I'd claimed I needed an early night and spent a total of ten minutes under the fifty billion blankets on the guest bed before I snagged Sam's laptop and went to work. There was no folder labeled "Top Secret Alien Files" or anything like that, so I had to go at it the old-fashioned way. I installed Google Desktop and started searching for any keyword I could think of. "Alien" brought up like 5000 hits, but the second entry caught my eye. It was a document titled "Project Distant Light." I eagerly clicked on it.

And it was horrifying. I thought that seeing blood spatter on MSNBC was traumatic, but what I found on Sam's hard drive triggered my gag reflex first and left me feeling like I'd just been through a terrorist attack. It was a literary analysis of The Great Gatsby that would have given my dad an aneurysm and an ulcer and maybe a heart attack. I had a bad taste in my mouth just looking at the thesis statement. I read it in a kind of morbid fascination, shuddering at the mixed metaphors, sentence fragments, and spell check fails. Seriously, how did anyone make Ivy League and not know the difference between they're, their, and there?

Unfortunately, at that point, someone noticed the laptop's glow under the door and knocked. Not wanting to get caught with a bed full of empties, I kicked the cans in Sharsky's direction, set the laptop down and found my way to the door.

Lisbeth had that bleary-eyed look of someone who had something on her mind in the middle of a dream. That and her fuzzy pink bathrobe made her look like a little kid and I half expected her to ask if she could sleep in our bed tonight. I shut down that semi-creepy thought and grinned a little manically at her.

"Hey."

"You're up," she stated the obvious and then rubbed at her right eye before stretching. From the corner of my eye I notice some dark blue among all the pink.

"Lots of work to do," I babbled. "Can't let anything slip through the cracks and there are a lot more cracks than you probably even realize. Not going to bed until I can fix at least half of them and geez that's gonna take like a year but yeah it's cool and I'm still up but yeah I'll be fine. We're all fine here. How are you?"

She was still in the half-asleep state and I was on a nervous energy/taurine energy binge. It wasn't a good combination. She gave a delayed snort at the Star Wars reference.

"It can wait until morning," she pointed out.

"It's okay, I've got energy to burn. What's up? What do you need?" I stopped short of offering caffeine so she could think clearly. "You okay?"

"It can wait until morning," Lisbeth repeated, frowning like a nagging parent. "Whatever cracks you have to fix."

"No, no, no, no, no. Not these ones. This stuff's too important and I might forget something. Better strike while the thingy's...um...hot?" I ran out of Bull bravado right then and just ran on nervous energy. "You go back to bed. I'll be fine. I'll be good. If you'll excuse me."

If I hadn't been on four Red Bulls and no sleep, I wouldn't have tried to shoo her out of the way so I could close the door, but panic had set in around midnight and it was the only thing keeping me going until my phone or the blog buzzed.

She peered over my shoulder and saw the laptop still glowing like a beacon in the dark. She checked the hall clock. Then she sighed.

"That's not really a comfortable place to work," she said. "Do you want to come work at the kitchen table?"

"Good idea."

It took me maybe three minutes to pack up everything I needed-I kept losing track of the power cord-and I followed her downstairs to the kitchen, where she immediately put the kettle on. Apparently, she was going to make tea and I couldn't tell if it was for her or to try and balance all the chemical crap keeping me awake. With Sharsky off his guard, I was the only one actually waiting for the go signal or distress call or whatever from the rest of our roomies and I wasn't going to have any chamomile crap that might knock me out at a crucial moment.

She spent the next minute deciding between Sleepytime Tea and Orange Zinger, narrowed down from a selection of herbal teas that would have made her my mom's best friend. The water was still boiling, so she sat down with the tea bag cupped in her hands and I tried to finish my thought before I looked up.

"Is that a new computer?" She asked.

"Sam's computer," I corrected.

"You're stealing his computer? Isn't that..." She yawned. "Against some guy code?"

"Hacking, not stealing. It was very easy to hack, it needed to be hacked, it was there to be hacked." I shrugged. "I was looking for any information on where he might be now. And bro code is for girls, not computers. Except when they're linked, like if you're bird-dogging your boy's girl just because she uses Linux or if your wingman wants to go after the girl at the Apple store, but he knows that he has an obligation to make you look good. This has nothing to do with the bro code. It's just good sense."

And I went back to typing my usual 100 wpm.

Lisbeth watched me until the end of the next paragraph, and then said quietly, "You're really that worried about Sam?"

"Hmmm?"

I had left my horror at Sam's "the light at the end of Daisy's dock was a landing strip for Jay Gatsby's wandering pilot" upstairs. There were some things that were horror beyond imagination, but his explanation of Tom as the victim in the story wasn't as bad as what might be happening to him now. For all I knew, the shooting was a cover for another semi-alien abduction and I was damned if I was going to let some crappy alliteration stop me from intervening.

I paused in my rewrite of a mixed metaphor involving aliens when an email notice popped up on his screen and I opened his Outlook to see what was coming in.

He already had twenty new e-mails, three of them male enhancement ads that he really should have spam-blocked already, six from peeps who were writing a theme and variations on "OMGYOUWEREONMSNBC!" Two were letters from Mikaela that I stopped reading after the first paragraph of calling him "Boo-bear," but I flagged them for later reading. Maybe the term of endearment was a buffer zone so that anyone with a weak stomach would give up and not read something important five paragraphs later. Eight were campus announcements of the kind that I'd gotten before Lisbeth even showed up.

The new one was a disaster of apocalypse-inducing proportions. I shoved the laptop away from me in a panic and bolted from my chair, pacing with my hands clasped over my head. It was all I could do not to projectile-puke all over the Borg's nice clean kitchen floor or-worse-Lisbeth's little-girl bathrobe.

"Oh my god oh my god."

She didn't look at the screen. If I was this bad, she probably didn't want to know. She stood up and tried to corner me in my pacing, which wasn't easy to do.

"Are they okay?" she blurted out, the tension rising in her voice. It didn't help that the stupid kettle was squealing in the background. "Come on, What happened?"

"Oh, this is bad," I groaned. "This is so fracking bad. This is...oooooooooh, man."

My knees were going wobbly, so I made my way back to the chair and collapsed in it, my hand over my eyes.

"This is so much worse than I thought."

I needed a Red Bull. Stat. I needed about fifty so my brain would explode and put me out of my misery but all I had were the remaining two cans and a cupboard full of teabags.

"What is so bad?" Lisbeth insisted, following me.

"Sam's prof just sent him an email. That paper on Gatsby is still due-tomorrow. Sam's fallen off the face of the planet and his piece of...crap paper isn't even finished. At least, I don't think it is. With how bad it was, maybe that was his conclusion."

"That jerk! Hasn't he seen the news lately?" She threw her hands up then switched from anger to resignation. Get the girl a mood ring. "But compared to what could be happening to him, his anal teacher's demands are the least of his problems."

"That's it?!" I shrilly answered. Jumping to my feet, I grabbed her hand and dragged her around the table, all but shoving her into the chair in front of Sam's laptop. Then I pulled up the file.

She looked at the screen for a moment. "Project Distant Light? That sounds like..."

"Something the CIA came up with, not a title for a lit paper! And look at this..." I scrolled down to the part about dock lights and landing strips.

She just said, "Oh," in a kind of weak horror.

"I know!" I appreciated that she understood the gravity of the situation. "The whole thing is like that! And don't even get me started on the homophones."

"There isn't any way for you to get ahold of him?" she leaned into the kitchen table hunching towards the computer.

I wasn't about to tell her that I didn't have the comm frequency for his mothership. "Not really."

"Hmm." She stared at it for a little longer. Then she looked up at me in delayed surprise. "You know what a homophone is?"

"Yeah?" I answered. Didn't everyone?

"But you're...a techie. Creators of Leet speak mixture of letters and numbers. Grammar skills were not what I was expecting." She looked impressed.

"My dad is a lit professor. I had to bond with him somehow and AP Lit was as good a way as any."

She nodded in understanding and then thoughtfully looked at the paper again. "You did hack his computer. Maybe if you fixed this, that'd make up for it a little bit."

Make up for it? If I could salvage this, the dude owed me his firstborn in gratitude! Or better yet, I could demand an honest answer about where he'd been for the last twenty-four hours.

Lisbeth left after Sleepytime Tea and a few half-hearted attempts to get me to go to bed. Closer to dawn, her dad wandered in, ate a few baby carrots from the fridge and blinked at me for a long time before deciding I was either a hallucination or not worth lecturing on my sleep habits. Lisbeth must have given her Mom fair warning, because Andrea didn't interrupt my furious typing, just put a hot cinnamon roll next to Sam's laptop and went to see how Sharsky liked his eggs.

When the slacker finally wandered into the kitchen, I grabbed him by the fraying neck of his No Doubt t-shirt and shoved him into the chair in front of Sam's laptop. "Look!" I growled.

"Project Distant Light?"

"Keep reading."

"Dude," he muttered. "I haven't had my caffeine for the hour and I didn't have to read Gatsby. I can't help you."

"Clearly," I sniffed. Writing in academic prose had affected my brain during the night. "You've been drooling all over the shag rug while I've been saving Sam's academic career!"

"Shut up until I've got my caffeine, will you?" he groaned. "Where'd you stash the rest of the Bull?"

"I didn't," I snapped. "I finished it off so I could get some work done."

"You. Finished. The. Bull?!"

"I'll get some more today. I have to make a run for supplies, anyway. The Borg don't believe in doughnuts."

He sniffed the cinnamon roll that was going stale on my forgotten plate. "I don't mind."

I shoved the cinnamon roll in his direction.

Andrea, passing by, reached over my shoulder and pulled it back. She also started the percolator on the kitchen counter. "Your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes," she informed Sharsky.

When she was out of sight, I split it in half and shoved my section in my mouth. Once I could talk again, I jabbed a finger at the laptop.

"I've been through the whole hard drive and he's got nothing," I sulked. "No encrypted files, no hidden folders. I'm starting to think he's not really a techie. He just hangs out with them."

"Or maybe he's so techie that we don't have the skillz to hack what's really on this thing."

After a long moment of contemplation/chewing, we said in unison, ""Naaaaaaaaaaaah." Alienboy Sam might be, but hidden powers and awesome skillz were not his thing.

"So why are you spazzing over the paper?" he asked. "The boards are on fire. Chuck is overwhelmed and sent out an SOS two hours ago. You've been so busy combing through Sam's email that you didn't check your own?"

"It's blackmail," I said, "I figure we can guilt the Truth out of him if he gets an A on it."

"Him being Alienboy?"

"Him being Alienboy." I nodded to myself wisely. "We've never saved his butt this majorly and he'll be on his hands and knees wanting to know what he can do to make it up to us."

"And then we swoop."

"It's going to be legendary," I agreed.

"It's going to be epic," Sharsky finished. "We need a powerpoint."

And, on some kind of karma-is-a-bitch cue, the internet started spazzing.

"No, no, no!"

This had happened twice last night, but all it had taken was a repair internet connection each time to fix it. This time, the thing would NOT get its groove on. I was going to have to get hands-on.

"Wireless," I spat in disgust. "Frigging bane of my existence."

"Told you we should have gone to a place with a T1 line," Sharsky pointed out.

I smacked him hard enough to knock a tooth loose; Lisbeth was still in the room.

"I'm going to go fix this," I announced.

As it turned out, fixing it wasn't going to be that simple. Their hardware was something they'd probably gotten with their first account on AmericaOnline and they hadn't bothered to do much with it since then. It was going to take more than a few minutes and a prayer to fix the internet. I could do some good in the world, though, and fix Alienboy's disastrous paper until the stores opened. I waved vaguely at Larry and Andrea as they left for the bank and health clinic respectively.

A few gruelling and unpleasant hours later, I was able to look on my creation and admit that I was a miracle worker. Generally, I'm pretty humble for a techie, but this was a different battleground. I don't insist on being an admin every time just because I had mad skillz. I didn't go around flaunting my genius, except when it got me a job. But I was a frigging miracle worker and I hadn't even needed to do something internet-related to accomplish my goals. I had just used my wits, the MLA handbook and every lecture my Dad had given me on archetypal American literature.

By the time Sharsky smacked me on the back of the head to get me to come to lunch, Sam's paper actually read like a paper instead of an LSD-inspired stream of consciousness. It wasn't ready for transmission yet-I was still working on draft #90 of the thesis statement because I had tried to keep the original idea intact-but there was no mention of wandering pilots or landing strips. Tom and his infidelity no longer sounded like something from Jersey Shore. And I had managed to correct every time he switched tense. It wasn't good yet, but it wasn't an abomination. I saved it, backed it up and went for a tuna salad sandwich and kool-aid.

The next time the internet crapped out, though, was the turning point. I tried everything from repairing the internet connection to power-cycling the router to going outside and trying to get a better signal from the neighbor's wireless. Instead of huffing and puffing and waiting for it to do something else, I shut down Sam's laptop, stowed it someplace safe and asked Lisbeth if I could borrow Moby Dick.

"Moby Dick?" She asked blankly.

"You know, the car?"

She didn't disagree with the description of her family's car as a great white whale.

"Sure. I'll come along," Lisbeth offered immediately.

"You don't have to do that," I protested.

"It's the family car," she countered. "If you're going to borrow it, there has to be a Borg witness. House rules."

"But you've got work to do." Every time I'd wandered past the armchair where she'd been hanging out, she'd been frowning at a very dog-eared copy of Death of a Salesman. "I'll be right back."

"No, seriously," Lisbeth said a little more forcefully. "I had to sign a good-driver contract before Dad would let me behind the wheel. And any time we've let someone borrow it, we've had one of us riding shotgun. Dad says it's to encourage good behavior."

"I promise not to go over the speed limit," I offered.

"I can help with your errands. Mom left some grocery money in case we needed more supplies." She insisted.

Mom had raised me right so I wasn't letting a lady or a host or whatever she was schlep my Red Bull refill.

"But I have to go to..." I trailed off. The truth was, I wanted to get in and out of Best Buy in five minutes flat. I didn't want a non-techie wandering around after me asking what things were and trying to point out things that she thought I'd like. "You'd be bored."

"I'll survive." Before I could argue the point any more, she grabbed her purse and her jacket. "Sharsky!"

He popped up from the bigger sofa like a prairie dog. "Huh?"

"We're going for groceries," I informed him. "Want to go along?"

He lifted his laptop into view and grimaced significantly. "Dude, Sam's not the only one with stuff due."

"You're doing homework?" I demanded.

"No internet," he growled like an addict in withdrawal. "What the sh...crap else am I supposed to do? Econ test starts Tuesday."

"Okay. Anything you..."

"BULL."

He was still pissed about his six-pack and being forced to do unnecessary math; I'd grab one for him and three for me to make up for it. "Got it."

I hurried upstairs and grabbed my wallet and my coat. When I got downstairs, Lisbeth was waiting by the door, having added a red knit hat and mittens to her winter gear.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"I'm good."

"Good. Oh, and one other thing." She dug the keys out of the basket on the table by the door and shook them in my face. "I'm driving."

Lisbeth, it turned out, was surprisingly practical when it came to electronics stores. She stayed outside with the heater running in the car-she claimed it was too hard to find a parking spot- while I made it back out of the store in six minutes flat with everything on my shopping list hastily scrawled on a charity drive flyer.

What took longer was the stop at the grocery store-I was as efficient as I had been at Best Buy, but Lisbeth took longer saying she was buying groceries to replace what we had consumed from her parents' pantry. I decided not to gripe about her being a good daughter, though I felt the look she gave me slightly unfair because I had only eaten what had been offered to me. It wasn't like I had gone fishing through the cupboards for munchies. I was also a good enough house guest to not gripe when she added Cheerios to the cart instead of Lucky Charms. While she was hunting for a gallon of 2% milk, I moved some of the stuff to my basket so I was buying the iceberg lettuce and Rice-a-roni in addition to the Red Bull. She didn't argue, but nor did she give me a dirty look when I turned left into the ice cream aisle.

We made it back to the house in less than an hour, all told. I gallantly took about half the grocery bags and all the Best Buy bags. She handled the doors and the three remaining bags.

"We're home," she called out to Sharsky.

"Finally," an unfamiliar guy's voice said. "Please tell me you went out and got some junk food."

I hadn't noticed the extra car on the curb until then, but the beaten-up Honda Civic that I now noticed through the kitchen window was apparently what had brought the new guy here.

Lisbeth's eyebrows shot up at the other voice and she entered the living room with groceries in hand rather than going to the kitchen. I followed behind her to find Sharsky and some tall blonde guy eyeing each other suspiciously from opposite ends of the fireplace mantel. Neither of them broke eye contact as we neared.

"Lukas? What are you doing here?"

The blonde guy pointed to his left, eyes still narrowed towards Sharsky, "Laundry." I turned my head to see two large laundry bags sitting next to the sofa. "What," he continued, not giving Lisbeth a chance to speak, "is a stranger doing in our house?"

Lisbeth rolled her eyes, "He's not a stranger. These are Sharsky and Fassbinder," she pointed at my roommate and me respectively, "They're from school."

"So..." Lukas finally looked over in our direction (Sharsky seemed to relax a little), "what are they doing here?"

"Your sister kind of invited us to stay after what happened on campus," I spoke up. Really, this whole Mexican standoff was getting ridiculous. "You know, your parents let us stay here since there wasn't room in the bomb shelter."

"Bomb?" Apparently, his brain could only handle one keyword at a time, like a really bad search engine. "What bomb?"

"Figure of speech," I said.

Lisbeth stepped pretty bravely between Sharsky and Lukas and shoved one of the bags at her brother. It wasn't a fair move-she had just given him the barbecue potato chips that she'd caught me eyeing.

"They're guests," Lisbeth pointed out, "and you know how Mom feels about that. So play nice." She didn't wait for him to accept that, just stepped back so she was closer to Sharsky than she was to a blood relative. "Sharsky and Fassbinder, this is Lukas. Lukas, these are my friends."

Sharsky, still bristling for a fight, muttered, "Meecha" and jerked his chin in Lukas the Borg's direction. I decided to play it cool and slapped palms with the guy. I opened my mouth to say something more civil than what Sharsky had managed and instead, all my frustration at the tech spilled out.

"Have you seen the crap your family's had to put up with on their router? That thing's, like, three generations old. It's not a brand worth mentioning and it doesn't even have G or N wireless. It's like it was wired for my grandma, not a self-respecting family who live somewhere other than Saskatchewan in the 21st century. It's kind of pathetic. Really backwards. Really not doing much more than flashing pretty lights. Practically steampunk and I know some people like that crap, but I'm not letting your sister go from campus wireless to this...this..." I waved vaguely. "This mess. I can get you guys the Ferrari of wireless to replace this covered wagon. Well, maybe not the Ferrari. I want you guys to be able to fix it if it goes wonky. But I can at least get you running like a 'Stang. You get it, right? Don't worry, I've got it covered now, but that was some serious negligence by whichever brother was supposed to have the network key."

Lisbeth had looked a little uncomfortable as soon as I called her family's connection crap, but now she blanched. "Whichever brother meaning..."

"Me," Lukas finished stonily.

There was a good five seconds of dead silence. I swear even the radiator took a break from wheezing.

"Awkward," Sharsky said in a quiet, sing-song kind of way.

"Where'd you get your degree?" I spat out in surprise, "ITT Tech?!"

I stepped back automatically-I'd gotten punched for saying something like that once before-but Lukas just went kind of red and looked at me like I was a 3-inch floppy disk. I begged whatever yoga gods my mom prayed to that he wouldn't go for the face.

"Well..." Lisbeth finally said, breaking the tense silence, "Lukas, I'm going to go move the towels from the washer to the dryer so you can start your stuff. Don't kill my friends." she paused for a moment, giving me a stink eye, apparently for insulting her brother, "Please."

Lukas grabbed the two laundry bags while I meekly followed Lisbeth into the kitchen to put the groceries away. After stowing the lettuce in the crisper I returned to the living room and presented my peace offering to Sharsky. He immediately abandoned his Econ notebook to break out the first can of Red Bull. I swear the guy teared up a little at that first slurp of Bull.

I opened up a can from my own packs and started unboxing the new modem and router. There was something special about this process, like I was unwrapping a really good Christmas present, and Sharsky had enough sense to stand back. As far as tech went, he was fine with not being the parent as long as he got to be the doting uncle later on.

Lukas didn't bother me-I think he was kind of scared of me after my whole rant and I didn't mind as long as I got my work done. By the time dinner was ready, I had finished setting up the modem and router, installed new drivers for their creaking printer, updated everything from Javascript to iTunes and finally got them something other than the generic Windows XP desktop background. I hadn't even thought about Sam and the moronic metaphors all day, but I didn't feel too guilty. There wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to bed.

We still had no info on what had happened to Sam and Leo, but the world had a lot to say about everyone else involved. Lukas killed time during the spin cycle by watching the 6 o'clock news.

"...discovered that the alleged shooter, identified as Vermont surgeon Packard Larsen, had survived the blasts that rocked this renowned university just last fall," the anchorman was saying in a bored voice that indicated he'd gotten tired of reporting every single thing someone could dig up on the school shooting. "The traumatic injuries sustained in that attack prevented him from returning to work, but that was not all he lost in last September's bombing. He also lost his son, Sam, in the same blast that effectively ended his surgical career. After a word from our sponsors we will go to Candace Wu with our Burlington affiliate for an update on the community reaction."

As a Vicks Vapo-Rub commercial came on, the front door opened and a minute later Larry entered the living room, shedding his coat and giving me a nod of greeting. He walked out again a second later tugging at his tie. Lukas left the room to fold his laundry during the Campbell's soup snowman commercial.

When the news came back on Candace was standing in front of an ordinary house that looked like a copy of every house we passed on the way here. "Residents call the small town of Bensalem, located here in scenic Kingdom County, a haven. It is home to seven hundred fifty-nine residents, two grocery stores, a pharmacy and a small teaching hospital affiliated with the University of Vermont's medical school. A hospital where, until last year, Doctor Packard Larsen was a surgeon. He was known to the staff as Pack, a man with steady hands and a long legacy of..."

I was relieved when Larry came back into the living room, picked up the remote from the arm of the couch, and switched to ESPN for the hockey scores. I didn't like thinking about the people who had been involved in the shooting and I really didn't want to think about how much everyone at the local Stop and Shop liked the guy who had done it. Plus, they were spending all this time on a guy who'd tried to kill some friends of mine when I didn't know when I'd see those friends again.

"Hello," Larry said mildly. "I hear you've been hard at work."

"Yeah," I said, coming back to myself after my gloomy train of thought. "Have a good day?"

"It was enjoyable." He nodded to me. "I hope you don't think that we brought you here to put you to work. We appreciate the effort you've put into..."

"Sure, no problem," I blurted out before he could finish his sentence. "Where's Sharsky?"

It struck me a second later that I should have let him finish talking and shown some gratitude for his props. But the deed was done and he didn't look too offended by my caring more about my roommate than I did about his eternal thanks.

"In the kitchen," Larry informed me settling back to watch the highlights of a Philadelphia Flyers game.

I checked my phone for updates or missed calls on my way into the kitchen, so I wasn't looking where I was going. I heard Sharsky yelp, "Watch it!" and backed away quickly. I shoved my phone into my pocket and looked up...

To find my pervy, techie, honey-chasing roommate carrying a casserole to the table and trying very hard not to spill it on his pretty pink apron.

"Um."

It was all I could think to say. I ducked out of his way and stared for a second. Maybe I shouldn't have had that tenth Red Bull. I'd never heard of it giving you hallucinations, but maybe no one had tried this many.

"Hi?"

"If you want to help, you can check the brownies to see if they're done," Sharsky said with the tone of someone who has just discovered that they know something useless that you don't.

"You eat them," I pointed out. "That's how you know they're done."

Sharsky gave me a very weird look. "Take a toothpick, stick it in the middle. If it comes out clean, it is done."

I turned to find Lisbeth looking both proud of herself and a little worried at his personality change.

"What have you done?"

"You left him alone for a router," she accused. "I had to do something with him. And he wanted to know how to make muffins."

I looked in confusion from the casserole on the table, to the aforementioned brownies illuminated by the light in the oven. "So where are they?"

"He mixed up the baking soda and baking powder so we had to improvise," Lisbeth explained. Then she turned back towards the oven.

Giving up there, I turned back to Sharsky. "Leo would say you've lost your last shred of masculinity."

He gave a sidelong glance to where Lisbeth was retrieving a toothpick from the cupboard. "No, he'd say the dough wasn't the only thing getting a rise." He tilted his head as Lisbeth leaned over to check on the brownies on the top rack. Once he'd gotten in a good ogle, he muttered distractedly, "And then ask about buns in the oven."

She paused, huffed something that sounded like "ugh" and then slammed the oven door shut.

I smacked him up the back of the head for that one.

"What?" he protested. "I was just quoting Leo!"

"You looked!" I hissed.

"I didn't touch!" he whined back.

"Which one's Leo?" Lisbeth wondered aloud as she rejoined us in the dining room. Her smile was just a little too bright to not be fake.

"He talks in Spanglish," I muttered. "Liked your muffins."

"Ooooh." She exclaimed, grimacing in recognition. "That's why I couldn't understand him!"

"None of us understand him."

"Speaking of which, have you heard from him or your other roommate yet?" Lisbeth inquired.

"No," I grumbled. This was just getting insulting. I mean, he couldn't take 30 seconds out of his packed Men-in-Black schedule to send us a text? Not even, 'I'm alive. Save me some pizza' or anything?

Meanwhile, Sharsky retreated into the safety zone of technology and petulantly pulled out his cell phone. He still had the apron on. I gave a small snicker in his direction as Lisbeth turned to pull out plates from a kitchen cabinet.

Sharsky noticed this and in a surprising show of manners and gallantry, pocketed his phone again and started pulling out cups to help her set the table. He scowled at the surprised expression on my face. I swear he wanted to stick his tongue out.

I didn't want to jostle any elbows in there so I retreated to the living room where Larry was still watching sports and pulled out my phone. I didn't have any new emails so I wasted a few minutes looking at xkcd and avoiding news feeds.

Larry turned off the TV after a while and picked up a magazine from the pile of mail on the side table. It was during this lull that a familiar chime sounded from my phone. I jumped up, already thumbing the link to the Buzz post, as I walked in Sharsky's direction.

He glared at me, apparently still upset over something, but as a peace offering I held up my phone and said "Post!"

His eyes brightened and he dropped the handful of napkins on the table without distributing them. He picked up his laptop from where it had been abandoned earlier in the day after he gave up on Econ.

* * *

**ON THE MEND**

...Mostly. To be honest, I think the boy is in rougher shape than I am. (And no, that's not a commentary on your healing skills, NurseRatched. The friends you sent are taking good care of me.) He's...not taking it well. Not sure exactly what "it" is, but he's pretty much beating himself up. You should have seen the freak-out he had earlier. None of us are quite sure what to do with him. BtR keeps wishing you had sent Survivor instead of him and I keep wishing Optimust could have come, too. We're kind of out of our league here. Under other circumstances, his family bonds could help him through this, but...

Any ideas?

**Comments:**

BringTheRain: You weren't supposed to tell them that, Camaro!

Camaro76: Sorry.

BikerChick: You can help him, C76. You two are practically brothers. He's feeling guilty just like I felt when you took that hit for me outside of Polyhex. Just like you felt when you put all our lives on the line at Tyger Pax and you and I were the only ones to walk away.

OneManAlone: You don't always know what to say to someone in these circumstances.

IncidentalSidekick: Hell, I hardly ever know what to say to anybody in any circumstance.

S&M: And dat's why you is da _incidental_ sidekick.

* * *

I blinked a few times at the post - Alienboy having a freak out was not surprising, but BikerChick's comments... I quickly googled the terms "Polyhex" and "Tyger Pax". Polyhex brought up a Wikipedia article on mathematics, but no locations with that name. Tyger Pax as a phrase brought up no results. Without quotation marks, 'Tyger' got corrected to 'Tiger' and brought up a news article about Tiger Airways.

Sharsky hadn't reacted at all, so I figured he was looking at something else.

"Take a look at the page," I instructed vaguely, aware that Larry was within earshot still.

"I'm there," Sharsky said obediently.

"Okay, you reading?"

"I'm there," he repeated.

"But are you..."

"Will you lighten up?" Now he was getting wigged out and a little cranky. "I can read on my own, you know."

"THEN READ!" Larry looked up from his magazine with a raised eyebrow and I gave a totally fake smile as I watched Sharsky.

A few seconds passed, but his fingers kept tapping in a non-rhythmic way. He wasn't scrolling. He was dragging things out. For all I knew, he was looking at lolcatz.

"What are you doing?" I demanded impatiently. "You're not..."

"BACK OFF. I'M REFRESHING FOR NEW MATERIAL!"

"FINE." Now Lisbeth was peering in from the other room, giving me a Look.

I backed down. We were both on edge, but with all this crap in my system, I was finding it a lot harder to get back from the edge.

"We're never letting you have Bull again," Sharsky said, reading my thoughts.

"I'll stop drinking when you do," I promised him. "Do you have it?"

He stopped tapping and read for a few seconds to find his place. "Yeah."

I leaned forward and bounced my feet a little maniacally. "So you know the big question."

"Uh-huh."

I wasn't convinced. He was sounding like a kid who wanted to sound like he'd been paying attention, but was waiting for a recap.

"What's the big question, Sharsky?"

Sharsky looked blankly at me for a few moments before saying, "I want you to tell me what you think it is."

Please. He'd borrowed that line from me.

"Third comment," I said through gritted teeth. I was having a stroke of genius and he was just being a goof. "BikerChick."

"Yeah. I noticed. What's your point?"

"Where the hell is Tyger Pax?"

"Tiger what?"

Yeah, he hadn't been paying attention.

"Tyger Pax," I said pointedly. "Polyhex. Code names or actual locations? Polyhex sounds pretty Silicon Valley, but Tyger Pax I have no clue."

"I have NO idea what you're talking about."

"Dude. Third comment down. READ IT OUT LOUD WITH ME. BIKERCHICK:"

"This comment has been deleted by the moderator." Sharsky read out in a monotone.

I paused, mouth open in horror, "What?!" It came out in a weak whisper.

"I'm not kidding. Look." He moved slightly away from his computer to allow me to see.

"But I have it right here..." I held up my phone again, finger moving to navigate in the browser.

Sharsky's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist in a vise-like grip. "Don't refresh the page," he hissed, "You've got the only proof that it was there!" Sharsky wasn't yelling, but his voice was rising in both pitch and volume, bringing more strange looks from Larry.

"I'm going to have to do it eventually."

"Save it and send it to yourself. Back it up. Back it up and send it to me for backup."

"You just want your own copy."

"Damn right! Now back it up before we lose it!" I obediently took a screencap, backed it up to DropBox and sent it to my university email, then refreshed. Sure enough the post from BikerChick had disappeared under the moderator's heavy hand. Damn the Man!

On the plus side, there was new material.

* * *

BringTheRain: Sidekick, I was right there in the garage with you. You did your best. In fact, you did a great job.

IncidentalSidekick: I think I'm actually the one who caused the knee injury.

Camaro76: The knee injury is the least of my worries.

Optimust: I agree with BikerChick, Camaro. The boy is bound to you in his own fashion and you are up to the task of assisting him. I sincerely wish I were there, though.

BeeFF: I've already looked at prices on standby tickets.

NurseRatched: And Optimust has already looked at the consequences if he tries to take off on his own again: NtTF and me.

Optimust: And Spitfire.

Spitfire: There it is again! I *seriously* don't bite!

NotTheToothFairy: Well...

BeeFF: Don't. Want. To. Hear. It.

Survivor: (To NtTF) lol (To C76) BikerChick is right. Google "survivor guilt" as a form of PTSD. That should give you some good ideas on where to start. A visit with family probably wouldn't hurt, but with what little I've seen of his parents, I'm not sure if they're the ones you want to call in.

Camaro76: The Mrs. would do more harm than good. The Mr. *might* be able to help. His brother, on the other hand...

BrassEagle (mod): Doesn't have clearance.

* * *

Sharsky and I looked at the blog for a while without speaking. The post itself was about Alienboy, who, according to Leo had a knee injury. Alienboy was spazzing, Camaro76 was worried about his mental breakdown, and BikerChick was comparing this to battles somewhere called Polyhex and Tyger Pax. Which didn't exist...

Which didn't exist _on Earth_.

If this were an RPG like they were trying to convince us then this "game" and the places in it would be found somewhere else on the 'net -referenced in some way whether they were real or not.

If this was a place that had been on Earth at one point, but had been wiped out, there would have been a conspiracy theorist to point it out. They would have done what we theorists did best and pointed out the shocking lack of something. We were more suspicious when things didn't show up than when we could find something to back our ideas up.

I could tell Sharsky was on the same page as me when he said, "This is THE." Pause for effect and emphasis. "REAL Effing Deal."

I nodded in excitement, about to launch into a whole speech, when I heard a small cough. I looked up to find Larry, Lukas and Lisbeth spread around the living room a few yards away, staring at both of us with varying expressions of confusion.

I couldn't be sure if I was jittery from restraint or excitement or the caffeine, but in spite of the looks and urge to start rubbing my fingers and bounce on my heels, I pulled myself together and focused on Lisbeth. I closed in so I could keep this between the two of us.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" I asked quietly.

Her eyes widened slightly and she glanced nervously at her father and brother. "Where we...?"

"Me and Sharsky."

"Oh." She didn't bother to hide her relief. "Um, yeah, sure. Anywhere you want."

I wasn't going to have an alien-centric epiphany in earshot of her hockey-watching Dad. He'd never let us back in the house, no matter how many computer problems we fixed.

"No, um." I scuffed my foot on the floor. "Where we..." I glanced towards Sharsky. "Can talk... privately."

"The guest room?"

"Privately. Where we can have some privacy." For emphasis, I leaned in and lowered my voice. "Non-negotiable."

She looked a little more confused and glanced at Sharsky. "Um."

"We can't be overheard," Sharsky insisted. "By anyone."

"Soon?" I pleaded.

Her eyebrows raised and she deadpanned. "Promise me you're not going to do anything illegal in my parent's house." She shot a glance at her father who had folded his arms rather menacingly for a banker.

"No, never." I promised.

After a few seconds, she finally came up with an answer and her voice was just as quiet as mine. "OK. Laundry room, basement, right-hand side of the stairs. Turn on the dryer and you can't even hear yourself think."

"You do this on a regular basis?" Sharsky blankly asked.

"I used to study in there because it's pretty much the cone of silence," she translated.

"Fortress of solitude," I corrected. "That'll do."

"Thanks!" Sharsky and I said in unison.

Without another comment, I grabbed Sharsky by the front of his frilly apron and dragged him off to the laundry room.


	29. Heading Home

Author's note: Usually, we blame whatever happens in these chapters on Kateydidnt's baking. This time, we were victims of yogurt pies. Also lots of homemade jam. And this opening scene was the one mostly-invented while Kateydidnt and DarthIshtar were driving back from the Grand Canyon and chugging sugar to stay awake. That doesn't explain much, but it explains enough.

* * *

"Hands off," Sharsky whined as I hauled him down the stairs.

"Alright, fine," I grumbled, letting him go. I slammed the laundry-room door open. "But take that stupid apron off already! I can't even _look _at you like that."

"We're talking effing awesomeness here and you can't get over a little pink?"

"JUST. TAKE. IT. OFF!"

"Fine!" He reached around and yanked on one of the apron ties before I could stop him.

"Idiot," I grumbled. He'd pulled just one of the strings and now it was all in a huge knot.

"You're the one who's having a fit," he shot back, twisting to look at the mess he'd made.

"You're the one who can't even untie a shoelace."

"You're the one who's insecure in his masculinity," he archly answered as he fought with the apron ties. "_I'm _in touch with my feminine side. _I _cook with girls."

"You don't have a feminine side," I snarled. "There are dogs that aren't as furry as you. Turn around - I'll get it." After a few seconds the knot finally gave.

He yanked the apron over his head. "There. It's off. Better?"

"Much!" I reached over and turned on the dryer. The drum groaned to life, metal grinding against metal. "Finally!"

"Yeah - _finally_. So...Polyhex. Tyger Pax."

"Alien worlds?" I ventured.

Sharsky eagerly looked over the screen cap I'd sent him. "He took a hit for her _outside _of Polyhex."

"So a city or a state or something, then," I concluded.

"No clues for Tyger Pax, though." He grinned at me maniacally. "But it's alien _something_!"

"We know the _actual _name of an _actual _alien place!" I actually shuddered at the thrill that ran through me at the thought. It didn't have the thrill of Kashyyyk, but as final frontiers went, it was pretty sexy.

"We've got better than that," Sharsky crowed. "We know an actual _alien_! Camaro76 - Cam Romero - is the real effin' deal. We have _proof_ now. He was _there_ in those alien places. _Both _times! AN ALIEN HAS VISITED OUR DORM!"

The awe of it barreled into me, and I slumped against the dryer so hard it actually thumped against the wall.

Sharsky squeed like Nancy at a Bieber concert. "I've _talked _to an alien!"

"We hang out with him," I added, suddenly feeling cooler than I had in my whole life.

"We've totally pierced the deception. Seen the Truth. There is _nothin' _they can hide from us!" Sharsky's hand slapped down on the washing machine emphatically.

"Biker Chick," I blurted out. "She was there, too! There are alien _babes_! FOR REAL!"

"Duuuude!" He slumped against the washing machine as hard as I had against the dryer earlier. "That's it! I'm breaking out the lapelcam. I want everything documented from here on out. If we get caught in some kind of cross-fire between the aliens and the MIB, we're not going down in vain."

"Found footage," I agreed, giving him a fistbump. "Blair Witch meets X-files. It shall not have been in vain."

A minute later we emerged, minds spinning with new theories. Strangely, Lukas and Lisbeth were still in the living room and suddenly went silent at our return.

"Everything...taken care of?" Lisbeth said with a strange expression and a somewhat strained tone.

I guess we hadn't been very polite in rushing off like that. I gave her a dazzling smile (which she flinched away from slightly) and nodded, "Got a few kinks out of our...something."

Lukas gave a strangled sound but when I looked at him in confusion he simply turned to his sister and said abruptly, "What's for dinner?"

"Rosemary Beef Stew," Lisbeth answered him, "and Mom's rolls, of course."

"And the souffle is for dessert," Sharsky pointed out.

"Will you stop saying souffle?" I grumbled at him

"It _is_," he insisted.

"I don't care. It's such a..." Every time he said it, I could see the frilly apron. "Girly word."

"Heck, yeah," Lisbeth said. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Uh-oh. If Lian and Nancy were here, I'd be getting my butt kicked in the name of feminism. Lisbeth was just polite.

"It's not a...It's just that...dude, he's a _bro_."

Lisbeth's brother snorted loudly, like it was funny. "Doth protest too-"

I caught Lisbeth's frustrated glare at her brother. Dude I was glad it wasn't leveled at me.

"And real bros like muffins," Sharsky said like it was his new manifesto.

I was so rewiring his brain before we got down to business. He was going to bring cookie sheets back to my dorm over my dead and desiccated body. I turned to Lisbeth and crossed my arms before giving her a very accusatory look.

"You've ruined him for the rest of us," I said flatly.

"I've taught him survival, no, thriving skills. Surthrival," Lisbeth countered. "Someday, you'll thank me."

If Leo got wind of this, he'd start making cracks about Sharsky making someone a very good wife someday. Lukas didn't leave us alone for long, though. As soon as we had everything served at the dinner table, he started in with the interrogation again. He could have at least waited until dessert.

"So, how long have you guys been..." Lukas cleared his throat and I passed the water in case something had gone down the wrong pipe. "You guys?"

"The powers that be at the housing authority..." With a little help from us. "...assigned us. It's not like we had any choice."

"Yeah, but it's pretty lucky that you clicked so well," Andrea said, which made Lukas clear his throat again and inexplicably made Lisbeth turn a little pink in the cheeks.

"Meant to be," Lukas added.

Someone kicked me in the shins. Lisbeth's pink face was staring steadily at her plate.

"We're guys," I said with a shrug. "We don't even notice someone unless they're tech heads."

Lukas nodded sagely. "I get where you're coming from..."

"Really," Larry said. "Is _that _why you..."

"Can't get a date," Lisbeth muttered and glanced defiantly at her brother.

From the look on his face, it was something of a low blow. I grinned sympathetically.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm sure there's a techie out there for every good hacker."

Lisbeth laughed. "Yeah, bro. Some_one _for you."

It was the closest thing that I had - bikram yoga aside - to spiritual enlightenment. If I lived a good life, I could look forward to a happily-ever-after with a girl who knew her way around FTP.

There appeared to be some sort of sibling feud going on between the Borgs as Lukas tossed a roll at Lisbeth who mouthed 'stop it', and dodged. Then the table shook a bit and Lukas winced.

"Are you still twelve?" Mrs. Borg asked her children. Lisbeth looked a bit scandalized but Lukas just rolled his eyes.

"So you guys just, sort of, _found _each other?" Lukas was being really weird about it.

"Yeah. I walked in, he was setting up a networked hard drive and I knew right then I'd have to turn him to the Dark Side as my minion," Sharsky said.

"Hey," I snapped. "I am _nobody's _minion."

He coughed something about Kitten Calendars.

Mrs. Borg picked up the roll Lisbeth had dodged which had apparently rolled it's way to her feet, and brandished it. "I slaved over this dinner after working eight hours, and made enough for guests - you will not waste it!" she chastised.

After that, we were all conscientious eaters, and spent the next half hour cleaning our bowls quietly except for the occasional and emphatic words of gratitude to the chef. Even I knew when we had pushed someone too far. I wondered if the usually-stable Lisbeth had inherited her mother's tendencies. She didn't seem like her banker father, but her mom had a gunslinger edge to her that I just couldn't see on someone who made muffins.

After dinner, I slinked off to the den and started updating everything I could get my hands on, while Larry the Borg turned on ESPN and started watching a Sooners game. I could hear Lisbeth and Sharsky talking about self-rising flour, which I promptly blocked out.

I had managed to bring their wireless up to speed, had updated every driver known to the Borg (including a few that they hadn't ever heard of) and had graciously designed a new backup system for their hard drive. The next time they blue-screen-of-deathed, the Borg would have to enter a pretty-much unmemorizable password, follow a few easter egg-style paths to the actual folder and then answer some pretty geeky security questions. It was not for the faint of heart, but it would make sure that no one could hack their system if they were in a hurry. It wasn't quite as creatively backed up, but I made it so NCIS might run across Andrea's "workout" playlist if they looked in the right place.

However, while I was waiting for the computer to reboot after installing a few security patches, I found my mind wandering as the sound from Larry's game rose and fell in sync with the lights blinking on the computer tower.

Only when the Windows startup chime played did I snap out of it. I shook my head to focus again and turned back to the computer.

With everything I could think of updated and Sam and Leo still MIA, I went back to the Boring Stuff. Checking emails, doing homework, and actually modding the forums that Sharsky was freaking out about. I couldn't stay focused on one thing for very long, so didn't get all that much completed, but it kept me busy during the night and between bathroom breaks.

The all-clear signal came around 5:30 Saturday morning. I was the first to notice, since I was still chugging Red Bull (though I'd upgraded to 5-Hour Energy at 3 AM) and munching on some Redvines from the Borg pantry. So, when the school-wide email went out announcing that campus security had cleared out and we could go back to our normal lives, I practically skipped upstairs and fist-pumped for a few moments before making the announcement to a bleary-eyed Sharsky.

"Wesa goin' HOOOOOME!"

Sharsky stared at me, flipped me off and then turned over and put his head under the pillow.

I ignored him and started picking up clothes from the guestroom floor. A little while later I heard the telltale sounds of other people moving around and dropped what I had in my hands on the floor and eagerly went out into the hallway. Mr. Borg was rummaging in the hall closet for towels when I popped up beside him.

"They opened campus up again!" I said in what just might have been too loud a voice, as he cringed away and rubbed an ear.

"That's..." he paused to yawn, "good." Then he turned and went back into the master bedroom, towels in hand.

I impatiently paced around the downstairs level, from the kitchen, to the dining room, through the living room and then the den and around again as more sounds of life emerged from upstairs. I was busy planning the first words out of my mouth when I saw Sam, Leo, and most importantly Cam Romero. Of course, the words would change based on who I saw first. I was just contemplating finding translations of "Take me to your leader" in as many languages as I could when Mrs. Borg came downstairs followed closely by Lisbeth and Lukas. A minute later Larry emerged, hair still wet. And finally a disgruntled Sharsky entered the living room and glared at me.

"We're going back! We can get everything ready for Sam and Leo when they get back..."

I wiggled my eyebrows very pointedly - secrecy wasn't worth the effort if everyone else didn't notice their exclusion from the loop - and Sharsky nodded. He knew that getting everything ready was code for forcing a confession. Early wake-up call or not, that was something he could get behind.

"But we've really appreciated your hospitality," I blurted out to the Borgs before I forgot my manners completely. "Really, you've gone above and beyond."

"It was our pleasure," Larry said.

I couldn't tell if he was lying. Well, he probably wasn't. After all, he didn't seem to have a problem with his access to every possible ESPN channel.

"You'll stay for breakfast?" Lisbeth asked.

"You must," Andrea added. "The last load of laundry is still in the dryer."

That was directed at Lisbeth. Our laundry hadn't taken more than one load to do, though she had run some of Sharsky's socks through several times.

"Okay," I said, "Me and him are going to go pack."

Her brother air-quoted and mouthed the last of my sentence while looking at his red faced sister. What was up with that? I had known all weekend that the Borg were weird and now I just had more supporting evidence.

Packing should have taken the five total minutes that it had last time, but we ran into a complication. It was what I thought of as the Sleeping Bag Phenomenon: No matter how well something fits into a bag the first time, once it's been unpacked it'll never go in the same way again. In the panic of leaving campus, I had been able to shove so much into my laptop bag that I should have won an award. This time, even though the USB cords were shoved into the same place and my spare battery was rubber-banded together with my installation disks as usual, I couldn't get the bag to close. This was the kind of thing where, if we were in a movie, I would have sat on it and bounced until it closed, but that sort of thing was a BAD IDEA when a laptop screen could crack if you looked at it the wrong way.

I tried starting over from scratch. This time, I managed to get everything but my external webcam and my very favorite thumb drive in though I struggled with the zipper. After I cussed at it some, it moved another quarter inch, still leaving three inches of exposed gear. I threw my back into it and got that down to two inches. And then, in desperation, I snagged a pair of Sharsky's socks and used them to plug the hole.

"Fassbinder, I _needed _that!" Sharsky whined.

"You snooze, you lose," I said maturely, "but I'll roll you for it."

One roll of the dice later, he was still lacking a pair of socks and was trying valiantly to use his sneaker shoe laces to rope his bag shut. That didn't quite work and he was about to tear some ornamental ribbons off of the quilt when I yanked my own shoelaces out and finished. We didn't want to show our appreciation for Borg hospitality by defacing their guest room. Well, more than we already had.

The last thing to do was to make sure we hadn't accidentally left something stashed behind a needlepoint pillow. I didn't find any spare cords or creepy leftover underwear, but I did find the slightly damp and smelly towel that I'd been assigned for the weekend, which I'd completely forgotten.

"Dirty towel," I barked, wiggling my fingers for Sharsky to hand it over. "Now."

"Can't help you there," Sharsky said, completely straight-faced. "It's in parts unknown."

"We didn't make _that _much of a mess," I pointed out. "Check under the bed."

"Yeah, already done," he said stolidly. "It's not there."

He was starting to sound like Nancy whenever she claimed she'd looked EVERYWHERE for her phone. I promptly gave up and started searching myself. Nothing behind the pillows, Sharsky'd got nothing between the sheets and I couldn't even see anything more than a forlorn Red Bull can under the bed.

That was when I started to get suspicious. I bypassed the nightstand and went straight for his bag.

"Hey!"

Yup. He'd stashed the towel. And a hand towel. And a very squashed roll of two-ply toilet paper.

"All mine are in the wash," Sharsky said defensively.

"You'll survive," I snapped.

"But they _gave _them to us."

"_Dude. _It's not a frigging hotel. You don't swipe the toothbrush and the ice bucket on your way out."

He gave me a look like I'd never really stayed in a hotel.

"NOT a HOTEL," I hissed, hoping no one was eavesdropping. I was one step away from bopping him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper. "No freebies."

Now he just looked depressed. "I should return the shampoo, then?"

I dumped out his carefully-packed hoard, shoved a travel-sized toothpaste, sample size of Mane and Tail shampoo and three bars of soap in my pockets, rolled up the dirty towels and shoved the bag back at him. Now that all his stolen goods were out, it was much more closable. "I'm going to 'use the bathroom,'" I announced. "You pack."

I left him sulking like a three-year-old and ran into Lisbeth in the hallway.

"Almost done?" she asked a little warily.

"Yeah," I said a little too cheerfully. "I've got..."

I thrust the wad of musky damp towels in her direction and she managed not to look grossed out as she accepted them. "I'll put these in the hamper," she said. "Do you need any help?"

"Nope, I'm good to go. Sharsky's still trying to figure out a place for everything."

It was pretty much true.

"Okay," she said. "I'll see you downstairs."

I got back from restocking the bathroom to find Sharsky miraculously packed. I poked his bag suspiciously to make sure he hadn't padded his computer in top sheet or anything and when nothing was inappropriately squashy, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the door. I should have given him a lecture on not dragging his stuff down the stairs, but I figured it would kill him to put up with one more lecture before we headed back. And it wasn't needed anyway.

Campus was deserted when we got back, but that was pretty normal for a Saturday morning. No one, not even the nerds, wanted to be up before noon to go to the library and the only sign of life was one of those die-hard jogger chicks who probably didn't stop jogging for Hurricane Katrina. What was weird was that there were no signs of Friday night activity. I couldn't see empty pizza boxes stacked lazily next to Dumpsters. No one was doing a walk of shame from one of the frat houses. No one had even littered and that meant catastrophe.

Andrea parallel-parked like a boss and turned to us. "Here we are," she announced. "Do you want any..."

Sharsky was out the door before she finished the sentence. The jerk didn't even bother to close the door. I took it as my cue to take this conversation outside and the rest of them followed my lead.

"You have a lot of gear," Andrea said. "Are you sure you have everything?"

"No, but we can always replace what we donated," I said cheerfully. "Thanks for everything, Mrs. B."

"Yeah, yeah," Sharsky said quickly. "Awesome kitchen."

"I'm glad you approve," she said with an amused look.

He grabbed his stuff and started marching off without so much as a "Seeya."

"I'll see you around," I said. "Lisbeth has my number if Lukas can't figure out what we did."

She actually laughed at that. "I'll keep you on speed dial."

Sharsky stopped halfway up the sidewalk and turned to look at Lisbeth over the car. "ME! YOU! SCONES! TUESDAY!" he called.

"Got it," she said indulgently before he made his escape.

I got my own stuff out of the back seat while Lisbeth was doing the mushy goodbye stuff. It was totally not necessary since we lived, like, a ten-minute drive away from them in good weather, but the Borg had been good to us and Lisbeth, being the nice girl that she was, made sure Mrs. Borg knew it.

And then Moby was gone. I had tried to be a gentleman and schlepped her stuff from the car to the curb and she spent a couple of seconds organizing her stuff.

"So, um."

She rearranged the straps of her messenger bag and avoided my eyes. "Thanks," I blurted out, glancing over my shoulder at Sharsky. "You were a lifesaver."

"Any time," she said.

Well, that was a lie. If we were lucky, Lukas wouldn't file a restraining order. Sharsky would get an invite back if he brought yeast, but we'd made a hell of an impression. And that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"No, seriously," I said once that thought had run its course and I'd checked on my roommate again. Sharsky had given up on waiting outside and was standing inside the glass-front doors like a doggie in the window with a lot of software instead of a waggly tail. "We owe you big time."

"I'll let you go," she said.

I turned back from checking to see if Sharsky was looking less pathetic than a minute ago - some part of my brain kept thinking he'd disappear if I blinked - and promptly lost my train of thought.

"Uh..."

"Looks like you've got a lot to do," she said sympathetically.

That's what I liked about Lisbeth. She just seemed to get things that went unsaid.

"I've got a minute," I said. "You want me to walk you back?"

"I've got it," she said, hefting her purse for emphasis. "I'll see you guys around."

I wanted to say something else, but the half of my brain that had been obsessed with everything but our nice friend Lisbeth finally took over and I sprinted off to catch up with Sharsky. He threw his hands up in a "FINALLY!" gesture, but let me in the dorm anyway.

It was damn good to be home. We charged up the stairs and then I spent, like, twenty seconds shoving the contents of my bag around until I found my keys and unlocked the door, since Sharsky had lost his keys and his bio notes two weeks ago.

I threw open the door, practically ready to start clicking my heels and quoting Judy Garland, and immediately yanked the door shut again.

"GEAUGHH!"

Sharsky pushed past me and went in first, but I was still reeling from the stench. It was like locker room meets fresh puke meets leftover oatmeal.

"What the frack?"

Ignoring me, he punched the power button on his desktop and shoved his laptop power cord into a socket before his butt hit the desk chair. He had his headset on and was halfway through a WoW login when he finally stopped and sniffed delicately.

"Did you leave the milk out?"

"No, dude," I choked out. "You finished it off before we got back from class that day."

"Right," he said. "I'll get you another one."

"That doesn't matter right now," I said. "Da hell is that funk?"

"Sam's alien stuff?"

That sounded pretty plausible, but I didn't want to think about anything ET that would smell like that. I gave the room a quick once-over to see if there were any huge things I was missing, but there was nothing obvious.

There was a rogue Post-It note on my monitor, though. It was three lines long and written in very PERKY handwriting. "Heya boys - you never checked in, and the 'House Rulz' pamphlet I gave to each and every one of you at the beginning of the year clearly spells out what you need to do in the event of lockdown. So as soon as you see this, go down to the common room and check in. If I'm asleep, wake me up."

"She could sleep at a time like this?" I demanded.

"The bullets stopped flying a day and a half ago, Sam, Leo, AND Cam are safe, and she's probably OD'd on chocolate while holding down the fort."

"Come on, then, let's get this over with. We should wake her up anyway. Slacker."

There was no telling when she'd left the Perky Post-It so we semi-obediently dragged ourselves down to the common room. It was devoid of chanting Romans and guys looking for food to steal. But it was not devoid of the one thing we didn't want to find when getting home from a very long weekend.

April the RA was there.

April was there in a big purple beanbag chair.

April, from the looks of things, hadn't left that spot since her favorite techies went on MSNBC. There weren't any tell-tale puddles or anything, but her hair was practically in dreads and she had some weird stains on her school pride t-shirt.

The only good thing was that April was, for once, zonked. Behind her, on one of those easels that CEO's LOVE, was a CHECK-IN poster. Under those words were the names of every person on our floor and a laminated smiley-face in fluorescent yellow. Every single one of them from Andreas to Farragut was beaming up at me. Fassbinder was upside down. I checked the rest of the list and found that Sharsky had a matching frowny-face. I left Spitz and Witwicky where they were until the dumb jerks could check in themselves. We were the only ones still AWOL. But there was unfinished business involving smiley-faces. For a girl who practically breathed glitter, this would have killed her.

If I had been any more coherent, I would have felt guilty.

I leaned over and grudgingly flipped my face. I did the same for Sharsky and backed carefully away.

Unfortunately, April apparently had a Mom-sense that went with her free room and board and monthly stipend. She jerked awake with a snort and glared blearily at us.

"Hi," I squeaked. "I'm not yet dead!"

And then I bolted. Compared with having to face her wrath, I could put up with the weird smell in our room. I still wasn't sure who would win in a fight, her or Cami, but I didn't want to find out while I was on about 100 cans of Red Bull.

It was even worse than I remembered. I braved a glance under every bed after vowing to not actually touch anything I found but there was nothing I could find. Then I stared blankly at the semi-empty mini-fridge.

It wasn't until I went looking for a spare thumb drive behind Sam's tower that I found It. So rotten the crud on it had an IQ. From the label on the side, it was supposed to be a Choco-Choc-Mintalicious Large from the campus creamery, but it was all green now. I had picked it up when I spotted the cup, but as soon as I sniffed it for confirmation, I recoiled. I could have made the long trek to the trash can downstairs where we could blame it on one of the jocks on the second floor, but there wasn't time for that.

"SHARSKY!" I bawled. "WINDOW!"

He didn't ask questions, just ran for the nearest one and wrangled it open. I staggered across the room and chucked it as far as I could. That accomplished, I collapsed on the floor, breathing hard. I felt almost proud - someone had finally littered. Campus was officially back to normal.

"What the heck was that?" Sharsky asked, sounding both scared and awed.

"Something older than Yoda and fouler than Nickelback," I said gravely. "Get the air freshener."

We sprayed the hell out of the room and left it to fumigate or whatever. We managed to last ten minutes without computer contact, conspiring about all the stuff we'd throw in Alienboy's face when he got back. And then we held our breath and went back in.

I was too buzzed to sleep and Sharsky was too drained to work, so he put on something on the TV and I went to work on Powerpoint.

Sharsky had turned on Saturday morning cartoons and the noises and flashing lights were making it difficult for me to concentrate. I pulled out my headphones and plugged them in, but the lights were still flickering in my peripheral vision. So I angled my computer away from the TV and towards the window.

It didn't help. I kept glancing out the window to see if the campus cops were parked outside, but I couldn't see anything except a kinda deserted courtyard.

"Shut it off," I muttered.

"Hnh?" Sharsky asked.

"Whatever you're watching," I said. "Knock it off."

When I turned around, he was looking confusedly at the book he'd been thumbing through VERY LOUDLY. The TV was already off; apparently Dora had completed her exploring.

"Um, okay."

I put on my headphones again and went back to work for all of ten minutes before I got the alert we lived for. "BUZZ POST!" I shouted.

* * *

**HEADING HOME**

Just wanted to give everyone the heads up - NurseRatched's friends will be finished up with me this morning and the boy and I should be home before noon. Thanks for the support and ideas. The boy's still going to need some time, but at least I have an idea of what I'm up against and how to approach it.

**Comments:**

NurseRatched: Keep us appraised.

Survivor: And good luck.

Optimust: Thank you, Camaro.

* * *

"That's it!" I shouted. "We've got an ETA!"

"Noon. Long enough for you to catch a quick nap..."

"Not a chance! We've only got two hours until the aliens invade! We've gotta have a Plan!"

"What's to plan? 'Glad you guys are home. Thanks for calling us to let us know you didn't DIE. We got invited to sleep with a girl while you were gone.'"

I whacked him for talking about Lisbeth that way.

"What?" he protested. "It's true!"

"Sharsky passed," I snarked back, continuing his little monologue, "'but he wants to share souffle.'

"Muffins," he corrected sternly. "Ain't no one getting MY souffle."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, that'll make _them _think twice about leaving us out of the loop next time." I paused. "What we were talking about?"

"The game last night?" he ventured.

"No, that's right! Our Plan. Cam is an alien!"

"Yeah. Tyger Pax and Polyhex."

"But we can't let him know that we know!"

He stared at me for a long second. "That's it. I'm breaking out the Benadryl."

"NOOOOO!" I wailed. "You can't do that! They're so close! We have to be ready!"

"Dude, your mom warned me you'd do this, only she thought it'd be for finals."

"No, no, no! We _can't_ let Cam know we're on to him. He'll duck and cover. We need to let him think he's _totally _tricked us. He stays human on the org chart. It's like in the zoo when they put a piece of glass in the snake's cage for it to hide under and feel safe when really everybody can see it!"

He blinked at me for a second and then said, "Okay, I'm not spiking your Red Bull yet because that actually made some kind of sense. But sooner or later you're going down. For a _nap_."

"No! Not until they get here! I've gotta do the interrogating because, let's face it, you're...you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he shot back. "You're the one who's starting to hallucinate."

"Whatever," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "We need a Plan. Once they're here, we spring the trap. We wring all the truth out of them that we can and then I'll crash. But _only _if you'll keep the tape rolling."

He tapped his lapelcam grimly. "It's been rolling since the laundry room."

I paused, "You've been wearing that shirt for two days?"

"It's hard-core," he said.

"It's creepy," I corrected.

"It's not frilly."

"Fair enough."


	30. Status: Amused

We knew (roughly) when and where Bossman and Alienboy were going to be and we had not enough time to get our stuff together. Yeah, we'd been doing pretty good on getting The Interrogation to End All Interrogations ready, but that was like we'd been getting ready for a move and now the moving van had shown up and we were still finding things to pack. Or something like that. Or like we'd been taking our time on an essay question and then checked our watch to find that we had six short answer to go and two minutes left on the clock.

On that note, I sprang into hyper-action. I dug around in the pile of stuff that I referred to as "Not-Crucial-for-Monday" and whipped out the Febreeze that Cami Rawlins had given me as a welcome-to-the-team-don't-breathe-near-me gift at our first staff meeting. I Febreezed my pits, feet and the garbage cans, knowing the whole time that the illusion couldn't last long, and then chucked the can to Sharsky. It was the kind of aromatherapy that would make my mom swear off potpourri, but it wasn't like we had time to groom with an alien conspiracy on the line. Showers and clean socks could wait until after we'd gotten the real effing deal out of the jerks who had been holding out on us this whole time.

The rest of the 'cosmetic' prep was pretty straightforward, since it wasn't like we needed a cleaning check, just enough visibility to see the PowerPoints on the big screen. That meant moving the usual piles into lots of littler piles and shoving everything that couldn't be piled into corners where we could care about it later. We even risked double pneumonia and left the windows open so it wouldn't smell like Leo's socks had been hanging out in a sewer all weekend. We made a run to the common room to stash some of the funkier stuff in our fridge and when we came back, we were able to breathe pretty normally.

Then we got down to pulling all the videos we could from campus security. We had tried from Lisbeth's house, but it was much easier to get on from the campus network.

We kept checking the Buzz to see if there were any other updates, but our first notice was when we heard a key in the lock. I waited in a half pounce in the door of the server room, wanting to make sure it was our erstwhile roomies, not the half-zombified April checking on us.

The door opened to reveal Alienboy in all his glory. I froze as I took in his gloomy expression and gimpy knee. He looked terrible. Sharsky took my silence for the chance to address them. He spun around in Leo's chair and gave his best Mr. Burns impression, "So..." he demanded over steepled fingers, "you wanna say this is a case of effin' mistaken identity?"

I unfroze as I noticed Leo and Cam entering behind Sam. I bounded into the room and calmly addressed him, "Good to hear you're not, you know, dead. Wish you'd thought to notify us sometime in the last three days. The news channels kept saying you were the target and connecting it back to the attacks last fall."

Or at least that is what I thought I said. It might not have come out how I intended it as all three of them flinched and looked at me like I was speaking Swahili.

Sharsky gave me an exasperated look, which I ignored. I continued talking in a reasonable tone, "Now we have some questions we'd like to ask you."

They, very rudely, ignored me while Sharsky all but ordered them to sit down and pay attention. I scowled and was about to direct them back to my questions, when Sharsky pulled up the org chart. I slumped down in a seat and allowed him to take the lead.

I noticed distractedly that my legs were bouncing up and down as I sat. I cocked my head and wondered why they were doing that before I looked back up and helpfully read off the title of the slide, "Military structure!"

Sam and Leo glanced at each other and I detected a look of worry. I grinned fiendishly at Sharsky and plowed ahead with our new insights. "So," Sharsky growled, "cut the crap about mistaken identity. Cut the crap about Langley and Area 51. This is as effing real as it gets and we ain't playing along."

"Yeah, it was for real," Sam finally spoke grudgingly, "Some nutjob who blamed me for all those fatalities back in September took a shot at me. Nothing alien about it."

"HAH!" I said and pounded on the keyboard bringing up one of the videos I had pulled from campus security showing Sam walking through a tree.

That was when I saw it. Alienboy's facade cracked just a bit, then he glanced at Cam and Leo. Sharsky seemed to feel it too and he latched on, "Tell us everything you know."

"What do you think we know?" Leo bluffed. "It's not like they gave us a briefing on who was kidnapping us when they shoved us in the trunk ..."

Cam looked up from his cell phone and coughed.

Leo threw him a glare but corrected, "Back seat of..."

"A Camaro '76?" I interjected. "Yeah, we got that. Like hell you didn't go willingly."

I knew we had them now, and I could tell Leo was weakening. We were almost...right...there!

Leo gave up the bluff and started confessing like we were priests.

"What, you think this was my idea?" he said. "I signed up for the real effing deal, not some back alley alien invasion where we got blown halfway across Egypt. No one asked me if I wanted to be molested by two ghetto flunkies from Mars!"

Sam, who had managed not to be as intimidated by our interrogation, spluttered, "Molested?! You weren't the one with that...that thing up your NOSE!"

"Dude," Sharsky said in his normal voice. "You actually got...probed?" I blinked, mind painting pictures that were not images of how I wanted to be thinking about my roommate; I couldn't tell if it was a badge of courage or something to envy.

"Yeah," Sam said in a disgruntled tone, "I got probed. If anyone wants their adenoids yanked, I know a good doctor."

"We're getting off-topic," Leo said. "It's not like we _wanted_ this to happen."

Sharsky and I snorted in unison.

"They let us live and they let us in on the whole thing, but rules were radio silence, man," Leo stated. "No tweeting about our paisanos in the military or anything in Cairo. I couldn't even say I'd met one of them."

"So, you have met one of them." I said triumphantly.

"I met a whole buttload of 'em," he snapped. "You can take S&M any day you want 'em."

"I'll pass," Sharsky said, but I wasn't going to let Alienboy go that easily.

I turned to focus solely on Sam and asked, "So, _boy_, what is the deal with you and Camaro76?"

Cam kind of choked and screwed up his face in a grimace.

"Need to know," Sam said, "Absolutely need to know."

"Yeah? Let's talk about 'need to know...'" I moved towards him to pull some more answers out in any way I could.

Leo, however, intervened, planting a hand in the middle of my chest. "Be cool, man," he said with a rare kind of maturity and gravity. "It'll be one step at a time, just like it was for us."

"Okay, step 1," Sharsky challenged. "Area 51."

"Never been there, heard the weather's nice."

"Langley."

"Not. Involved. At. All." Sam answered.

I noticed Leo looked actually crestfallen at that. I was still suspicious, though, so I nudged some more while I still had a captive audience.

"The Bermuda Triangle?"

"_Tampoco." _Leo answered this time.

_"A poco,_" I said savagely. It was Spanish for Yagottabeeffinkiddingme and seemed appropriate. "There's nothing hiding there?"

"Other than Caribbean chicks..."

Sam shook his head. "But," he held up one finger as he saw Sharsky about to explode, "I will tell you, Hoover Dam and The Smithsonian." That brought both Sharsky and I up short.

"No way." I whispered, wiggling my fingers, just waiting to get on the computer to do some research on anything unexplained that might have happened in the last few years at either location.

"Aliens in LA," Sharsky demanded.

"Wasn't there," Leo said firmly.

"Aliens in Appalachia?" he tried weakly.

"Urban legend," I asserted. "So, if you've never been to Area 51, where the eff did you meet the big bad aliens?"

"Uncle Bobby's." Sam said promptly.

Cam glanced up at Sam and they exchanged a look. I cringed mentally, if he was going to rein Sam back in and stop him from talking too much...

"Who the eff is Uncle Bobby?"

"Uncle Bobby Bolivia," Sam answered airily. "He's the man with the connections and a hell of an attitude. Even his mammy flipped him off."

Yup, I'd been right. They were trying to back away now, being all coy and mysterious. Sharsky scrunched his eyebrows, "Queensland, Australia - a year and a half ago," he challenged.

Leo, with an amused look, started shaking his head until he caught a slightly sheepish look on Sam's face. My heart started beating faster; maybe we _were_ getting somewhere!

"_Really_?" He asked in disbelief, "I debunked the hell outta that one on therealeffingdeal!"

"Dude," Sam said. "You can't be right about _everything."_

"Area 51," Sharsky reiterated. "If it's not all happening there, where is it?"

"Area..."

Leo yelled "STOP!" just as someone knocked on the door, and I wondered who was coming to tell us to keep it down.

Then the door smashed inward and banged against the wall beside it. It was The Man. He was in a uniform and _everything_. He prowled into the room and practically growled "Not. Another. Word."

Sam tried to push the blame off on us, but Leo either had more guts than I gave him credit for or he was just plain oblivious because he just kept rambling on about how Sam totally had an in with the aliens.

The Man grabbed Leo by his shirt-collar and dragged him into the hallway. We all stood there waiting for someone else to lead the charge and rescue Leo because I wasn't stupid enough to be the first one to poke my nose through the smashed doorframe. I wasn't expecting Cam to be the first one to look away, though, and I really wasn't expecting Sam to just start clearing off the bed. I mean, he and Leo had been through an _alien invasion _together. That was, like, epic bromance. Sam totally should have been the one to volunteer as cannon-fodder and lead us after him! "DUDE!" I shouted. "The Man has Leo!"

"Eh," he answered, tossing some old socks onto the floor. "They'll just rough him up a bit."

"Aren't you going to stop him?" Sharsky asked, clearly on the same page as me.

He wheeled on us. "Um...gun? Fricking badass military thug breaks down the door and hauls him out for saying too much? You were the ones who said you wanted the truth. You guys should know better than anyone that the truth has strings attached."

"Strings? What strings? Are these metaphorical strings or something or is there actually..."

He got this very Yoda look on his face, which creeped me out more than usual. It was like he'd gotten religion in the line of fire. "It is something you have to learn for yourself," he intoned.

I hated it when people intoned. It was always pseudo-cryptic and reminded me of Executive Orders or papal decrees. It wasn't something that should come out of the mouth of a guy who liked muscle cars and hair gel.

"I don't buy that," Sharsky said. "I think you're just holding out on us."

"I'm holding back anything that would put you in danger," Sam pointed out. "Do you really want to push your luck?"

The answer was "hell, yeah," but I was going to wait until I'd had a couple hours of sleep and a couple more cans of Bull before I staged a full-scale attack. For all Sharsky's dramatics, this was like the first bombing in a spy movie. Small potatoes and all that crap.

"I think we're going to find out whether you want it or not," _I _intoned. "You can cooperate or you can..."

"You think you want this? You think you want in on all the excitement of death threats and assassination attempts and making personal enemies in some very E.T. places? You don't know what you're asking."

It was the kind of impassioned tirade that I would have built up into a roar by the end of the speech, but Sam said it in this kind of defeated, exhausted voice, like he had been talking people out of joining the PR department of SETI for his whole life. It wasn't what I was expecting and it kinda freaked me out.

"You're not kidding," I said.

"I never was," he answered.

I had the feeling that was the most honest thing he'd said all day and it made me want to pat him on his kewpie-doll hair or maybe give him milk and cookies. It definitely put me out of the mood to strap him down and waterboard him about his alien connections.

Sam turned his back on us again before I could do either of those things. "So...what did I miss?"

It took me a second to switch channels to actually remember last night. I remembered that there had been macaroons for dessert and Lisbeth had tried to wean me off of my computer at one point. I also had a weird kind of flashback to blinking lights and people cheering.

"Great game last night?"

Sharsky hit me on the shoulder and glared at me like I was trying to make a joke or something.

In the meantime, Sam had excavated enough of his bed that he found his Lit class syllabus. He picked it up, dropped it like it burned him and then dove for his laptop.

I intervened before he could have a full panic attack. "Chill, I hacked your comp, fixed that jackass thesis on Gatsby and sent it off to the Professor something like nine hours before the deadline."

"You wrote a Lit paper for me?" Sam looked almost awestruck - as he should be.

"I can use my powers for good."

"Above and beyond, man."

The Man returned, with Leo behind him. He wasn't exactly crawling on all fours, but he was looking whipped, like he was one step away from sleeping on the couch and he knew it. It was almost as weird as our profound Alienboy, but given the wreckage of the door and what I could only imagine had gone on afterwards, I couldn't really blame him.

As for Arabic John Wayne, he repeated "Not. Another. Word." and with a very Dirty Harry glower, stalked out of the room.

The fire had gone out of the interrogation by that point and there weren't many segues that could work in this situation. Sam spoke up first after doing a walk-around of what was left of the door.

"There goes the security deposit."

"Again," Leo agreed mournfully.

Sharsky whispered, half-respectful, half-scared-spitless, "Who was that?"

Sam's head twitched to the side in a kind of shrug, like it was normal for us to have a SWAT member bust into our dorm. "Some guy I know. He just shows up when things get dicey."

When we were alone again, I was going to fist-bump Sharsky. We'd hit things so close to the mark that there had been a frigging INTERVENTION.

"They assigned him to be my handler back in September, and trust me, you _don't _want to get in his way."

Without another comment and without getting out of the clothes he'd walked in with, Sam flopped on the bed. After a few seconds of gathering up his strength, he grabbed the edge of his blanket and went undercover again. Leo waited until he'd been motionless for more than a minute, and then beckoned us in the direction of the server room. Naturally, we had a fight over who got to go through the door first. Sam was all post-traumatic and sleeping the whole thing off, but if Leo had more to spill, it was our duty as human beings to hear him out. I was about to shut the door quietly when Cam squeezed through and flashed me a very enthusiastic grin. It was manic enough to look crazy instead of friendly and since his biceps were bigger than my head, I waved him to a seat and let him stay.

"First rule, _mijos_," he hissed. "I'll answer what I can, but you ain't getting _nada_ that'll get me in trouble with the National Security..."

"OH, COME ON!" Sharsky whined.

"Nothing doing," Leo said adamantly. "I spent the weekend in a holding facility, and just got read the riot act by The Man. I'm not going to Sing-sing just because you newbs talked me into saying something stupid."

I nodded in grumpy acquiescence.

"No questions about Sam," he said. "_Ese chamaco'_s been through a hell of a lot since you saw him last and we're going to be treating him like a baby kitty until at least tomorrow."

"But you'll answer our questions?" I insisted.

"I can plead the Fifth any time I want, bro," he said. "I don't _have _to do you any favors."

"Done."

"And I can't name names," he added.

"We don't have to know names," Sharsky said. "Use blog names if you have to, but it's time for you to give us..."

"If you say the real effing deal, I swear Imma gonna slap you into last Tuesday," Leo interrupted.

Rich coming from the site founder, but if he was telling us to hold off on abusing Sam, it meant he wasn't in the mood for our usual crap. We could hold off on the corporate buzzwords for this conversation only.

"It's time for you to give us the straight stuff," Sharsky corrected himself. "None of this RPG bull."

"None of the RPG stuff," Leo agreed.

I wanted to consult with Sharsky to see if he wanted to take turns or take notes or something, but he jumped right in.

"True or false," he said gleefully. "Waikiki and Honolulu are...real."

I instantly remembered the poster Sam's girl had sent us last fall, the one with Leo's arms draped over a pair of hotties not wearing much more than grass skirts.

"Which part of them?" Leo warily asked.

"Waikiki and Honolulu are not of this world," Sharsky reworded the question.

"Truer than I care to remember."

"You've snogged an alien," I burst out, my suspicions finally on the verge of being confirmed.

"Snogged, no," he said. "Cuddled, yes. Ain't never doing it again."

I slumped a little, but continued on. "Vegas Vulcans," I said. "Were your guys involved with the Luxor?"

"False. Not our jurisdiction."

"You've had bodyguard training."

He flexed his muscles emphatically. "True and I've got the pecs to prove it."

Cam snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Alien pregnancy."

"So far false, but it's not like we're experimenting." He raised an eyebrow. "Why, do you really want to know where alien babies come from?"

"I wanna know if BikerChick's going to come along and knock me up one of these days to see how human males deal with morning sickness." I shot back.

For the first time I could recall, Cam blushed. I guessed he couldn't stomach the idea of humans with chest-burster babies any more than I could.

"Plus if these guys are making a habit of alien dorm invasion, we sleep, like, twenty feet away." Sharsky added.

"You want to be _invited?_"

I wasn't touching that one. It would make me start begging and I wanted to keep my dignity in this conversation. I just shrugged casually and waited for Sharsky to take the next turn.

"True or false," Sharsky said again. "The aliens look like us."

"Sometimes true, sometimes really false."

"So they're shape-shifters?" Sharsky was probably thinking Odo from _DS9_. I was thinking more like Agent Smith from _The Matrix_. "They could look like _me_?"

"Sort of."

It wasn't a stretch. Sharsky practically looked like a Wookiee already.

"The aliens are hot," Sharsky said next, predictably.

He shuddered. "Not usually - and when they are, run. Sam will _totally _back me up on that one."

I jumped in. "The aliens are going to be competition for the Freshman 55."

"The aliens were IN the Freshman 55."

"Dude, really?"

"Totally that girl who 'dropped out' from the first floor," Sharsky guessed.

"Or the one who got mono," I said, jabbing a finger pointedly. "That was very convenient mono!"

"So, you can get another one of them for this Saturday night?" I suggested.

Cam coughed and Leo glared at him. "Not. A. Chance."

"The aliens have sexual orientation," I continued.

"I don't know," Leo said. "I've never been to an alien gay bar, but Waikiki thinks I have a cute aft."

"Your would-be assassin is an alien," Sharsky asked, moving onto more serious questions now that we had Leo loosened up and lulled into a false sense of security.

"No." He paused as though considering something and then added, "He was bleeding red. All over."

"What color do the aliens bleed?" I eagerly asked.

Leo and Cam both started at me in what might have been disgust for a second.

"What?" I demanded.

"Tact," Cam's cell phone said, shaking his head.

A little weakly, Leo answered, "Green, I think. Globs of it."

"Duuuude," I said, almost worshipful that he'd actually _seen _that much action up close.

Sharsky asked the natural follow-up question. "Your would-be assassin is working for an alien."

"If he was," Leo muttered darkly, "they're gonna get their asses whupped now. There are some aliens out there who are really protective of Sam and, well..." He trailed off and then frowned. "Next question."

"Aliens can be deported."

"Wrong kind of alien, no matter what _Men in Black_ says."

"The aliens can vote," I asked as a follow-up.

"True."

"Creepy," I said.

"Can't be worse than Communists," he said.

"Dubya was an alien."

"Much as that would explain things, _no_."

"Obam..."

"Neither is Obama," Leo interrupted.

"The aliens are Republicans."

"The aliens don't like gun control, but they're not all that political otherwise."

"The aliens like Country music," I demanded.

Leo started to shake his head 'no' but Cam's cell phone sang, "Roll on, eighteen-wheeler, roll on..." Leo grimaced. "He would."

"Seriously?" Well, they _were _alien. Actually, that kind of explained a few things about Nashville.

"Okay," Sharsky cut in. "The aliens live among us."

Leo leaned closer conspiratorially. "Only when The Man lets them."

"The Man meaning... the door buster?" Sharsky asked.

"Dude, he wasn't a Black Friday deal!" I replied before Leo could as I smacked him on the shoulder.

Leo made the executive decision and said, "Let's just call him G.I. Jamal. And no, I meant, 'The Man,' not him."

"They're here for world domination."

"Way off," Leo said, his tone suddenly dead serious.

"They aren't?" I asked, crestfallen.

"_Mars Attacks_ was a lie?" Sharsky whined.

"_Mars Attacks _was a satire," I said. "But seriously. They see all the stuff we have to offer and they don't want to enslave _any _of us?"

"They're all about liberty and justice," Leo confirmed. "What part of the blog made you think they're out to rule us?"

"Well, maybe not the wuss who can't get over squirrel slaughter," I grumbled.

For some reason Leo gave me what kind of looked like a warning glance, while Cam crossed his arms menacingly.

Sharsky gave me a frustrated glare and spoke over me, "But ConSlayer is totally a Klaus Schmidt. I could see him holding the UN hostage or something."

"But they're aliens! They invaded!" I added, not about to let Sharsky try to take over the interrogation.

"They crash-landed," Leo corrected.

That _did_ change things a little bit, but it was still disappointing.

"They really don't want..." Sharsky said a little plaintively.

"What, you want to be their slave?" Leo demanded.

"Well, not slave, but maybe like _The Apprentice_."

"Not happening," Leo said.

"No _way_," Cam's cell phone said as Mike Myers.

We could come back to that later, once the roommate with CONNECTIONS stopped snoring in the next room.

"Aliens built the pyramids, true or false?" Sharsky asked.

"Mostly true." Leo nodded in affirmation.

"_Awesome_," I breathed with glee.

_"_Weird taste in architecture," Sharsky commented and continued with, "Aliens blew up the pyramids."

"No, actually that was _us_ to get them _off_ the pyramids." Sharsky and I both blinked at that. Why was the US so hot to protect the pyramids from aliens using them as a jungle gym?

Struck by my usual inspiration, I leaned forward and lowered my voice. "The Vietnam War was fought over a bet that Howard Hughes lost to Aristotle Onassis."

Cam's phone rang again. "D'oh!"

Leo stared. "What the eff does that have to do with anything?!"

"I don't know, but it's totally true!"

"Shut up," Leo ordered, sounding exasperated.

I decided to tone it down. "Were they there at the moon landing?"

"Wrong aliens," Leo said while Cam looked uncomfortable.

"Did aliens abduct the Lindberg baby? What about JFK's other shooter?"

"Are there little squid people inside of those robots?" I asked, wiggling my fingers squid-like.

"They aren't Daleks, doofus." Leo rolled his eyes, while Cam's phone let out an "EXTERMINATE." Leo glared at him for a moment before turning his attention back to us.

"Are they behind global warming?" Sharsky jumped in before I could ask a question.

"No, but they have some really great ideas for green energy." _Green like their blood? _The thought wandered through my brain.

"Did they invent the internet?" I asked loudly as I saw Sharsky opening his mouth.

"No, but their arch-nemesis invented microchips."

"Bill Gates?" Sharsky asked, puzzled.

Leo smirked and didn't give an answer.

"How many of these bloggers have you actually met?"

"Um," Leo paused for a moment and looked to be counting in his head, "not all of them."

Sharsky scowled at the evasion, but didn't have a chance before I broke in, "What or where are Polyhex and Tyger Pax? Are they related to witchcraft?"

"Yes, Tyger Pax is the incantation for unending boils in uncomfortable places, and Polyhex is how you curse a whole group of people at once." Leo deadpanned. Or at least I think his tone was deadpan.

"Are S&M really into S&M?"

"As far as we can tell, in the late 19th Century."

I blinked, feeling a little dizzy. "Huh?"

"We can't pin it down, but Sam knows more about the boring family history side of things," Leo said. "Ask him about the glasses sometime."

I nodded while Sharsky took another turn. "Can they read minds?"

"They really like the Beach Boys," Leo answered. "No accounting for taste."

Okay, none of this was making any sense. I blinked again.

"And that's when this dude starts monologuing about 'one man alone...'"

"Dude, pick a topic," I snapped. "You were just talking about the Beach Boys."

Leo and Sharsky exchanged a look. "Yeah, like five minutes ago."

"No," I said impatiently. "You said they had bad taste in music and someone was monologuing..."

"Dude," Leo interrupted. "Have you slept at all?"

"Yeah, I got, like five hours of sleep on..."

"The night before you left," Sharsky supplied. I blinked again and suddenly found Leo up close and personal with my face and wielding Sharsky's pen light. I lurched back and waved him off frantically.

"Go. SLEEP. NOW." Leo pointed imperiously to the doorway.

"I don't need to," I protested. "I had a Bull, like, an hour ago. I can go for another..."

Leo was saying in a low voice, "And call his mom, see if she can scare him into some kind of herbal detox."

"I'M AWAKE!" I shouted. Sam's snoring faltered. "I can go for another hour!"

"You've been zonked for..." Sharsky checked his watch. "Three minutes and thirty-six seconds."

"Six minutes, two seconds," Leo said next. "Cam, bounce him."

Next thing I knew, I was an inch off the floor and moving very quickly towards my bed. I flailed, trying to free myself, and my captor shook me, either to subdue me or to knock me out again. A few seconds later, he dropped me on the mattress and I glowered at Cam.

"I've got feet, you know."

His cell phone started playing "Enter Sandman."

"I get the hint," I growled.

"_Hush, little baby, don't say a word, and never mind that noise you heard. It's just the beast under your bed. In your closet in your head._"

I blacked out before I could think of something intelligent to say.

I woke up feeling pretty much hungover. Or crashed. Or something. The energy I'd poured into my insanely awesome logical analysis of the org chart had been completely spent and for a while, it took more energy than I could afford to even blink. I stared at the ceiling until I remembered that my eyelids worked. It wasn't like I counted the squares up there, but I definitely noticed some funky stains that I should probably report to the RA. When my brain formed its second thought, I decided to move my pillow to the other end of the bed so I wasn't sleeping peacefully under that funky yellowish stain.

Usually I felt a bit of a buzz after Red Bull wore off, but it hurt to get my eyes moving this time. I could hear someone typing - Sam from the hunt-and-peck method sound of it - and it was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too loud. Hell, I was even having hard feelings about the whir of computers. This had to be what hell felt like.

I definitely needed the hair of the yippy little dog that had bit me.

I made it into a sitting position and reached for the cup on the nightstand. It was the only thing on there that wasn't plugged into my power strip and I vaguely remembered having something caffeinated in there some time. Unfortunately, upon further inspection, I realized that it had been that Dr. Pepper that I'd used last week when I ran out of everything else at midnight and the milliliter that was left was sort of coagulated in the bottom of the cup. I wasn't tired enough to try and slurp it down.

"Sharsky," I groaned. No one answered. Either he was ignoring me or he was wearing his air-traffic-controller-style headphones. "Leo. Alienboy. ANYONE."

"Morning, sunshine," Leo shouted back.

"Bull," I whined.

"Hell, no," Sharsky added sternly. "You're going as caffeine-free as a Mormon party for the next week. Cold-turkey."

The bastards.

"_Bull_," I repeated. "I'm dying here."

"You're getting what you deserve," Sharsky reasoned.

He was being a bit of a jerk. Guess he was still pissed off about having to leave before he learned how to make a torte.

"Someone other than Sharsky," I called.

"Come out here," Sam suggested. "We've got a nice glass of _water_ for you."

I decided not to argue and dragged my sluggish body off my mattress. I shuffled listlessly through the door and shut off the overhead lights. With all the computers going, it wasn't like we needed them.

I heard a very distant snigger that sounded like Leo. "You talk in your sleep, you know."

"Do not," I muttered sullenly.

"Yeah, you do," Sharsky added.

"Do _not_."

"I've got recordings," Sharsky alleged. "And you've said some really weird stuff about Nancy stealing your dolls today."

That jived with what I remembered about my dreams. Or maybe he was making it up. There were other things on my mind, though.

"Pee," I muttered.

There was no way of turning off the lights between our room and the bathrooms, so I closed my eyes and just sort of felt my way along for a couple of seconds. But then my dizziness kicked in and I realized that a headache was a small price to pay for not dragging myself across the dorm on my hands and knees.

I got back to the room and commandeered the couch. It was the only place I could flop without looking like I was swooning. I heard more sniggers, but no one tried conversation. After a few seconds, my staff sippy cup landed on my chest with the promised water. It tasted really boring after taurine, but it was okay for now.

"What day?"

"Same," Sam informed me. "There isn't much of it left, but it's not like you passed out for a month." His phone chimed and he glanced at it. "Woke up just in time, too. Post."

* * *

**STATUS: AMUSED**

Hung out - what I did with the boy and his friends over the weekend.

Strung out - what someone else I know did over the weekend using substances that just shouldn't be able to DO that to you. I'm seriously dying here.

**Comments:**  
S&M: Who iz ya, and wha' ya do wit Camaro76?

NurseRatched: You wrote a post about the dangers of substance abuse.

NotTheToothFairy: lol You like to live dangerously, Camaro.

BikerChick: Ditto, NtTF. (To C76) And don't look to me to patch you up later, either.

NurseRatched: You wrote a pointed blog post about substance abuse. On a blog I follow.

ConSlayer: Dollars to donuts Camaro's not coming home for Christmas.

ElectricBlue: Unless it's in a box. I'm not taking that bet. :P

BikerChick: ...dollars to donuts in a box? What does that phrase even MEAN?

BringTheRain: (to CS) You seriously just said 'dollars to donuts' in writing. YOU?

LadiesMan217: No, really, this is an issue on campus now.

IncidentalSidekick: Kinda.

LadiesMan217: (to IS) We're on campus.

IncidentalSidekick: We're in dorms, not the library.

LadiesMan217: Still counts.

IncidentalSidekick: No it doesn't.

LadiesMan217: Kids are overdosing on everything these days.

Optimust: "Kids?"

BeeFF: That's his way of saying, "I'm lying through my teeth."

Optimust: I see.

Spitfire: Wait, did I read that right, Ladiesman? "We" have a problem? As in we're going through the whole underage drinking thing AGAIN?

Ladiesman217: GAH! No! It wasn't me!

Spitfire: IncidentalSidekick?

IncidentalSidekick: It wasn't me, either! It's one of our roomies. Had to do a total detox when we got back home. He was drowning his sorrows in Red Bull.

BringTheRain: Before or after he got drunk?

Survivor: Is this a scotch and soda for hipsters?

NurseRatched: I would like to point out that the chemical makeup of Red Bull renders it inadvisable as a companion to any grain liquor.

NotTheToothFairy: You would know.

Ladiesman217: NO ONE got drunk!

NurseRatched: Of course no one did! Camaro76 is just taking advantage of the fact that he's on the other side of the planet to harass me about the incident last October.

ConSlayer: That's MY job, Camaro.

Camaro76: I wasn't talking about you, NurseRatched. Promise!

NurseRatched: That's not going to do you any good. I *will* see you again, sooner or later.

Optimust: (to BeeFF) What do you think he's lying about?

BeeFF: Dunno. But when he starts sounding like a patronizing grown up, he's lying. Trust me.

Ladiesman217: Am not! I'm just nervous because NR is about ready to throw something at Camaro76 from all the way over there. Help us out, BeeFF Pleeease?

BeeFF: How come I'm the one who always gets tossed in front of the raging Hummer?

Faithful: Because even doctors brake for a Warrior Goddess brunette.

IncidentalSidekick: ...and it looks like someone is WAAAAY too sensitive on this topic. NR, none of us were talking about you. At all.

* * *

There was a vague ringing in my ears as I reread the comments section. Right there, in black and white and a whole lot of pixels were aliens discussing my drinking habits! Sure, they'd called me a hipster, but they were extra-terrestrial intelligences caring about whether it was smart for me to get that buzzed! It was almost as much of a rush as the 13th Bull had been, before I'd developed an immunity.

I came back to myself in time to notice that my jaw was hanging open. I shut it and waited until my ears stopped ringing so I could put my feelings about this whole thing into words.

Sharsky got there first. He got up in my face like I'd just insulted his mama, his face slightly purple.

"YOU GOT SCREENTIME WITH THE ALIENS BEFORE ME!" he bellowed.

"I know!" I tried unsuccessfully not to squeal. "I got..."

"WHADYA GIVE HIM, HUH?"

"Huh?"

He took his drama queen act on the road and whirled to jab a finger at Leo. "Six hours longer! I knew you six hours longer than this joker and he gets to be a cautionary tale before me? I live to be a cautionary tale!"

"Don't worry, bro," I said sincerely. "You're a cautionary tale to us all."

"Did I do something wrong?" he hissed, finally not in the mood to yell. "Is this about that thing I forgot to mod over Halloween? You couldn't have brought this up when we talked about a raise? You couldn't have..."

"Dude!" Leo snapped. "You're taking this way too personally. You're like something offa _Gata Salvaje."_

I was absurdly tempted to make the usual noise to signal a catfight, but I had the feeling Sharsky would kick my monitor in if I did.

"I have just as much right to be on there are baldy here," he asserted. "Da hell did you talk about him for?"

"Because you weren't as weird," Sam interjected before Leo could say something stupid. "When you're acting like a total meth-head about the whole thing, I promise it'll get a mention."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," he pouted.

"We try," I said carefully. "Have a Coke."


	31. 10 Ways to Reignite the Spark

Authors' Note: Special thanks to icanhascamaro for suggesting Bumblebee's blog post over on our Yahoo group. (The link 'Bee includes in his post goes to an actual news article. Just delete the parenthesis.) We had the "final draft" of this last week, didn't post it and came back to it tonight. Somehow it just kept getting kinkier and kinkier. And we can't blame it on any dessert!

* * *

I first noticed that we had company when Lisbeth decided to knock on the door. Or tried to. When I looked up, I found her brandishing a fist at our doorway. Then she realized there wasn't anything to hammer on and lowered her fist. Not wanting to call attention to her gaffe, I beckoned and she stepped through the place where our door should have been, revealing someone else behind her. From the shampoo-commercial hair and college t-shirt, I recognized her as our perky RA. But she usually didn't have her head in her hands.

"This is going to be your third door," April said before I could say so much as a "hello" to Lisbeth.

"Yeah," Leo said. "How soon can we get it?"

"How about never?" she suggested, lifting her head away from her hands to glare at us.

"Dude," Sharsky said. "We gotta have one. It's, like, in the Constitution."

"Or the student handbook," I guessed. "You'd know better than us."

My attempt at flattering the psychotic RA fell flat.

"I don't want all them lonely girls getting a free peep show," Leo explained.

Lisbeth snorted. "Trust us: We don't want that show."

"I don't want people grabbing my external hard drive," Sharsky added. "Who knows what they'd tweak!"

April made a disgusted sound in her throat, for who knows what reason. She's really sensitive, apparently. Lisbeth's eyebrows met her hairline. Girls are weird. Leo and Sharsky snorted in unison. They probably had their reasons.

"I don't want to let in a draft," I concluded. "Last time, we had to wait TWO DAYS and that's not cool for anyone."

"This is going to be your third door," April said more shrilly this time.

"So, do we get some kind of frequent flyer miles?" Sharsky asked hopefully. "Free pizza with the fourth one or something?"

"You mean we have to break another one?" Leo asked. "I don't know if we can duplicate that!"

"I don't know," I considered. "Whaddya do to piss off The Man last time?"

Our RA decided at this point that this fell under 'conspiracy to make April's life hell' and decided to object. "This is coming out of your security deposit!" she burst out.

That made me nervous. I had promised Dad I would have something left after this year and I didn't want to fake a security deposit out of my gambling proceeds.

"There's a perfectly good explanation for all of this," I said hastily. "Sam?"

"Don't look at me," Sam blurted out. "He's just my assistant."

"You have an assistant?" Lisbeth asked.

"More of a flunky," Leo answered with a shrug. "Signing bonus."

"And three stylists," I said. "Geek eye for the straight guy and all that."

"Suure," Lisbeth teased.

"Do we even have something left in our security deposit?" Leo wondered.

April whirled on the spot and brandished a finger-not the middle one-at him. This was the gesture that usually meant my Dad was about to yell, "Don't get smart with me!" but our resident cheerleader seemed to finally be at a loss for words.

"Detention," she hissed. "For all of you."

"Doesn't exist in college," I said.

"I'LL MAKE IT STICK," she snapped. "THEY'LL TAKE MY SIDE. I _WILL_ BE ABLE TO GET A JOB AGAIN SOME TIME BECAUSE IT'S NOT MY FAULT I HAD THE CALL OF DUTY COSPLAYERS LIVING ON MY FLOOR!"

Lisbeth could have taken her side. Or our side. Or done anything except watch with an expression of slightly morbid fascination.

"If you give us detention, I'm going to..." Before I could finish that complaint, I caught sight of Leo waving his arms frantically. I trailed off and he started pointing at Sam with both arms, like he was an airstrip employee.

"Pretty please?" I amended. "Can we have a door?"

Leo gave me a thumbs up. "Yeah," he said. "What can we do to fill out the paperwork or whatever?"

April stalked out of the room and I had nearly relaxed when she stalked back in and literally threw the book at us. Well, not the book. I recognized it from afar as the thing she had been carting around on move-in day. Up close, it turned out to be her RA Master Guidelines binder.

"LOOK IT UP," she roared.

"Yes, ma'am," we chorused.

She stomped away in a pretty good Darth Vader impression and this time, she didn't return. I was about to say hi to Lisbeth when Sam whipped out his phone, sprinted to the door and shouted a parting shot at April.

"LET'S TURN THAT FROWN UPSIDE DOWN!" he yelled, sounding almost perky.

He took a quick pic and then turned back, looking both smug and sheepish "If she gets difficult, I've got blackmail," he commented. "Hi, Lisbeth."

"I think it's in our contracts that student housing must have sufficient personal security, like locks, and doors for those locks at all times," she said once our RA was out of earshot.

Sam picked up the binder, holding it out to her with a winning smile and said, "Mind quoting that? Chapter, verse, subheading?"

"Don't you have a flunky for that?" She let that hang for a moment then took the binder and said, "Sure. But this means you owe me." She started going through the index. "I'll take a slice of the fourth-door pizza."

"Thanks." He headed back to the couch. "So, what's new?"

We had all chillaxed by this point, so she was the one to give us all weird looks at that. "You nearly got shot, shut down the school with a personal assassin that hit international news... I think thats more interesting than your roommates upgrading my parents cable and Internet. Well okay, did you actually get shot? I don't even know."

"I almost but _didn't_ get shot," he said, managing not to sound cavalier. "I was very fortunate. My knee, not so much."

"What happened to your knee?" She sat down on the side of the armrest.

"Took one for the team," Sam said flatly.

"What, like a bullet?!" I bleated.

"Or a probe," Leo said out of the side of his mouth.

"Orthoscopy doesn't count as a probe," Sam pointed out.

"But he'll live," Leo said to Lisbeth. "We're not sure which life he's on right now, but I'm pretty sure he's not done with all nine yet."

"Then why wouldn't you let me take on April?" I challenged. "Don't you think I'm man enough?"

"I think you're man enough to mouth off and get Sam kicked out," Leo snapped. "You don't do that to a bro."

"But they aren't kicking him out!" Sharsky protested.

"We won't know until Monday," Sam said a little morosely as if we'd just killed his buzz by mentioning school. "So far, they really haven't liked how many times things have happened with me at the epicenter."

"Whoa, wait someone tried to kill you, and you might get kicked out? If they try, get a lawyer, and plead 'all publicity for the school is good publicity.' Some people might come here now just for the excitement." Lisbeth seemed more upset about Sam's possible expulsion than she should be.

"More importantly," Leo interjected, "what's this I heard about muffins?"

She shook her hands in the air. "More importantly?" she blinked excessively and gaped like a fish. "Priorities?"

I was still wondering how they could kick Sam out for having intergalactically bad luck, but my mind swung back to the previous train of thought after a second.

"Sharsky," I blurted out. "Did I leave that part of the weekend out?"

"Hell, yeah," Leo snickered. "Ya got pics?"

"I got pics," I assured him. "Frilly apron and all."

Lisbeth held out a hand. "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Wait! Did you get a release form from the Borg family to share media of us including but not limited to: photographs, audio recordings and written materials?"

"Um, no," Sharsky said. "Is that good?"

"He may have got pics," she said with all the authority of a federal agent, and after G. I. Jamal, I knew what that's like, "but I can withhold female interaction and advice if those pics are shared without my consent."

"Daaaaaaa-yum," Leo said. "You pre-law?"

"Actress," she said with a grin, "quoting a one-act I did last year. Seriously, though, my brother has my parents freaked out about the kind of data that can be embedded in a digital photo. Please, for my sanity, don't put any of that online."

"Did you need anything?" I asked pointedly before he could make some crack about drama queens.

"I..." Her cheeks grew pink and she glanced at Sam, frowned shook her head and said. "I thought I'd say hi, make sure they really did make it back safe and sound." As an afterthought, she looked back at where the door should have been. "Does this have something to do with the door?"

"Sort of," Leo said. "If we told you, we'd have to kill you."

"Words to live by," Sam agreed. "There was a misunderstanding earlier."

"A misunderstanding with...the door?" I swear she was about to call B.S. Too bad our apartment was the oft-times set of the_ X Files_.

"The door, the laws of physics, privacy laws, whatever."

"Speaking of misunderstandings, where do you think we can find the crap about replacing the door?" Leo asked.

I was now very accustomed to his diversion techniques. Lisbeth looked like she had noticed them, too, but didn't feel like picking on him.

"There's a privacy code listed under table of contents," She said. "Start there and call me if it doesn't work out." She handed the binder to Leo. "Glad you're both okay. I'll see you later."

She walked out like she suddenly realized it was a bit weird that she came over to see us over Sam.

Leo waited until we could hear her clacky clogs on the stairs, and then rounded on us.

"She's all comfortable with us now," he said suspiciously. "Whadahell did you guys do to her while we were gone?"

"Souffle," Sharsky said.

"Gatsby," I added. "By the way, Sam, you owe me."

He shifted on the couch to glare at me. "Yeah. You mentioned that during your caffeine-induced hallucination. And while we're talking about privacy and doors and locks, you hacked my computer?!"

"You didn't answer your phone," Sharsky deadpanned.

"I just checked to see if there were any emails from you," I said reasonably. "And there weren't, but there was this one from the prof you keep bitching about. Paper due unless you're dead was the gist of it. In case you weren't..."

"But...you _hacked_ my _computer_!"

"He was under the influence," Sharsky added. "Remember the Red Bull?"

"How'd you like it if I hacked your comp, huh?" Sam said.

"Pffft, as if you could."

Cam's cell phone played, "Them's fightin' words!" and he looked up at Sam with a suspiciously hopeful grin. Sam glanced at him, but before he could say anything, Leo jumped in with "Souffle, people. I swear you all have Fassbinder's effing ADHD."

"I don't..."

"Lisbeth likes to bake," Sharsky archly said. "There was nothing else to do while we waited for campus to lift lockdown, so she and I spent some quality time in the kitchen."

"Any buns in the oven?" Leo leered.

"I KNEW IT!" I shouted. "I _knew_ you'd say something like that!"

"Must have hit it pretty close to the mark to get him all riled up like that," Leo said.

"Thanks, General Solo," I snarked. I gave Sharsky a second smirk. "Toldja."

Sharsky's Princess Leia impersonation-upturned nose and overly-posh tone-vanished in a second. "It was even odds he'd grow up after the bullets started flying."

"It's a sex joke. No amount of bullets can make the boy grow up," I shot back. "Pay up."

He stomped over to the Gamorrean Guard Piggy Bank where he kept his chump change and dug a twenty out of the bottom.

"Same old, same old," Leo said. "We run off for the weekend and they're still working on that gambling addiction."

"Yeah, well, we were bored," I defended. "There were only so many things wrong with the Borg internet connection."

"So, Sharsky spent quality time getting a rise out of the needy chick and she's making eyes at _you_?" Leo challenged. "Just how bad _were_ his muffins?"

"My muffins were fine," Sharsky protested.

"What do you mean, making eyes at me?"

He did his best Bambi impression. "Oh, Fassbinder, you know so much about linux! Oh, Fassbinder, I hope you're not dead. Oooooh, Fassbinder, are you sure I can't get in a sexy girl-on-girl catfight with your RA to defend your honor?"

I was very close to slapping him. "So she talks to me. So what?"

"Ooooh, Fassbinder, your wi-fi's so FAST," Sam added helpfully.

"Shut up," I snapped.

"But she liked my muffins!" Sharsky interjected.

"You can keep your muffins," I said. "I'm never going to get cozy with her over yeast cultures."

Sam looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"_And_..." He turned to look snootily at Leo. "She said I was hot."

"What?" That came from all of us and involved a bit of disbelief.

Cam's cellphone rang " We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto." and then blasted "You can't hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide your lyin' eyes."

"Yeah," he said. "She said I was hot."

"_When_?" I challenged, feeling my face turning red.

"Well..." He faltered. "She noticed I was sweating with all the time we were spending in the kitchen and said I probably needed to cool off. Offered me a cold shower. Doesn't that mean the same thing?"

There was a collective sigh of disgust (and, for me, a surprising rush of relief).

"No." Sam said as the most experienced with the ladies.

I shook my head. " Girls are like that. They help people without wanting to get in their pants." And cry. Girls were confusing. You might think they were interested and went on a date with you when noooo. Friendzoned.

Leo scoffed. "Never gonna get.."

"And could you really blame her if she did?" I pointed out, in part to shut Leo up. "I've washed my hair since move-in day."

"You don't have hair," Sam said.

"That's not the point." I tried to look modest since I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Especially not Chewbacca, Alienboy and the knock-off Old Spice commercial who lived with me. "I'm _sensitive_."

They actually didn't argue that point. I think I was kinda offended by that, it's not like I was the one who wore a frilly apron or baked.

"So, you spent all weekend at a girly sleepover and you didn't do anything?" Leo whined.

I had known him too long to gawk at the inappropriate stuff that came out of his mouth, but in this case, it was a temptation. Even Sharsky, who liked all his thoughts a little kinky, had something to say about it.

"Dude, her parents were there, like, the whole time," Sharsky argued.

"Some people would find that a turn-off."

That settled it. No matter who Lisbeth was making eyes at, she was NEVER dating Leo.

...

February 7 found me in front of what I hoped was Lisbeth's dorm room. The student directory had her listed there, but it also was known to name me Nudy-Fatty Fassbender, so I couldn't be sure that it had anything right.

The good news was that when the door opened, a girl was on the other side. That meant that I had possessed a 50-50 chance of getting the right half of the co-ed dorm and had scored. Lisbeth, however, had told me her roommate's name and it didn't jive.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely.

"Wrong room," I said. "Sorry."

She nodded, looking a little disappointed that no one was looking for her. "Who are you looking for? I've got a resident list."

This wasn't the chick I was looking for, but at least she was a helpful chick. "Cool," I commented. "Lisbeth Borg?"

"Oh, you've got the right room," she sighed. "You must be Fassbinder."

"She's talked about me?" I blurted out.

"How many bald computer geniuses are there around here?" she shot back.

I would have blushed if I were that kind of guy. "Yeah," I said. "I'm Fassbinder."

"Nice to meet you," she said. She didn't try to shake hands or anything, just nodded in a pretty friendly way. "You're shorter than I expected."

"You're..." I didn't want to come off sounding racist or anything, but there was a very specific mental image associated with her name. "Your name's Katie Chiang and you look like me."

"Yes," she said. "I'm a Chinese-African-American. Majoring in French. From Miami. You're not the first one to lead with the line, 'But you're not Asian!'"

"But I didn't," I pointed out.

"So," she said loudly. "You're looking for Lisbeth."

As if on cue, Lisbeth wandered into view, her head wrapped in a towel. On seeing me, she immediately clamped her hands to the towel and yanked it free. Her hair looked funny post-turban, but I wasn't about to point that out.

"Hi," I said smoothly.

"Hi," she said. "Katie, this is Fassbinder. Fassbinder, this is..."

"Yeah, we just covered that," Katie said. "He's looking for you."

"Actually, she was looking for me," I said. "I got your voicemail."

"Right!" She lobbed the towel out of sight and ran her fingers through her hair like a comb. "I found something of yours."

She wasn't avoiding my eyes or being all weird, so it probably wasn't anything too personal. "Cool," I said. "I'm here to negotiate for its release."

She waved a hand and disappeared from view. As I waited awkwardly with her Not-Chinese Roommate, she called back an explanation: "No negotiations. You definitely need this more than I do."

When she came back with my 14-sided die, I understood. Actually, I grabbed like a kid scoping a favorite toy. Katie snorted in either amusement or disgust as I blew on the dice to clear off dust and then turned it on every edge to check for new scratches.

"_Thank you_," I said. "We would have panicked some time this week without this."

It was actually impressive that we'd lasted this long without it. Apparently, we were still a little out of it after everything that had happened or we'd have gamed days ago.

"Yeah, I figured," Lisbeth said. "If my mom finds anything else in the guest room, I'll make sure you get it."

She could keep forgotten tighty-whities. Gaming dice were irreplaceable.

"So..." She gestured to the die. "Glad to be of service and all that."

"Yeah." I pocketed the die reverently, trying to not grin. "I'm glad you called, though. I meant to come over..."

I couldn't tell if Lisbeth looked skeptical or pleased.

"Ha," Katie interjected. "So you were looking for her."

Lisbeth definitely looked pleased now. I had never said I wasn't, just that it was her idea, not mine, for me to come over. "For both of you," I corrected quickly. "I had a proposal."

Lisbeth arched an eyebrow. "This is so all sudden," she deadpanned and batted her eyes.

"Not that kind," Katie snickered. "What kind of proposal?"

"A no-strings-attached kind," I promised. "Thing is, except for Sam, none of us actually have significant others to schmooze on Valentine's Day. I'm sending my sister a Harry Potter Valentine and probably sending my mom a .jpeg of roses, but other than that, I'm not really required to go out and spend lots of money on the female types."

"Okay," Lisbeth said. "What's your point?"

"My point is we're not going to change that this late in the game," I explained. "So, V-day, we're damned if we're going to sit around and feel sorry for ourselves."

"Which is probably where pizza comes in?" Lisbeth guessed.

"Lots and lots of pizza," I confirmed. "Maybe even breadsticks if we're feeling feisty."

"How romantic," Katie commented. "But why were you looking for us?"

"Are you offering pizza?" Lisbeth asked with a grin. "Or asking for donations?"

"We were hoping you-and your lovely roommate-could come polygadate us."

The two girls looked at each other.

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Only if you're married," I said.

"What exactly do you mean by polygadating?" Lisbeth asked cautiously or maybe suspiciously.

"All of us, both of you." I gestured helplessly. "It's not really that complicated. It just means we'll hang out and try not to say anything that makes you call us pigs. You can come any time you want, leave any time you want. It'll be..." I shrugged. "Cool."

Katie gave Lisbeth the kind of look that Nancy gave her friends sometimes. It was the sort of thing that made me believe in ESP because mental telepathy almost always seemed to be involved. We had a whole thread on estrogen and ESP on the Real Effing Deal.

"That sounds like fun," Lisbeth commented. She frowned and her manner became completely serious. "Wait, I thought you were seeing someone..."

I couldn't imagine what she thought about me and Cami Rawlins, but it would be impolite and weird to point that out.

"No, no, no," I stuttered. "Just...really awkward friends."

She looked at me like that was a million line program that she had to debug. "With 'benefits?'"

I was too traumatized by her thinking I was getting together with my anal-retentive Red-bull-hating coffee-guzzling TA to even think about getting it on with her. I moved on from that thought as fast as I could. "But Sharsky says you're not picking the movie, you're not getting flowers and there's no Truth or Dare allowed."

"Okay, okay, don't want to upset him," she said in an overly placating manner with both hands raised like she was agreeing to economic sanctions.

Actually, I hadn't discussed any of this with Sharsky, since I'd sort of come up with the idea in the heat of having my die back, but it was the sort of thing he would say. I just cleaned it up some.

"So when and where and how much are we chipping in for pizza?" Katie asked.

"No chipping in," I gallantly explained. "That would make it just hanging out." I frantically threw together a plan in my mind. "Valentine's is on Sunday, so we'll have round one of the pizza in our dorm room at about six o'clock and we'll start the movie around seven."

"Round one?" Lisbeth echoed.

"Well, yeah. Popcorn during the movie will only take you so far."

"O-kay," Katie said and they shared another girl-ESP look.

"We'll be there," Lisbeth answered for them both.

…

When I got back to the dorm, I strutted into the room. "So, I rounded up some girls for a polygadate on Valentine's."

"A what?" Sam asked.

"On International Commitment Day?" Leo demanded, freaking out like I'd broken the bro code.

"Chill," I told them both. To Sam, I said, "Think 'date with no couples.'"

"So a party," he hesitantly concluded.

"A little less intoxicated than a party," I tried to clarify. "More like movie date where you're not limited to one girl."

"Boo-yah!" Sharsky exclaimed.

"Not that way!" I shook my head at them. "It's Lisbeth and her roommate."

Sharsky mouthed "Oooh" as the proverbial lightbulb came on.

"You get to hit on any _one_ girl there. But she can flirt with anybody she wants, too."

"So...party," Sam concluded, "with a one-girl limit. The way it's supposed to be."

"An orgy with a possibility of souffle," Leo corrected.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. But you have to be on your best I'm-on-a-date behavior." Remembering who I was talking to, I added, "Imagine your Mom's here, too." Hopefully that would keep him from getting slapped or driving the girls off early. "I promised them pizza at 6 and a movie at 7 on Sunday."

"I'm gonna have to skip the movie," Sam said. "Webdate with Mikaela. But count me in for round one of the pizza."

"Only if you clean up your side of the room," I told him.

We all froze and then looked around us kind of owlishly. Sure, Lisbeth had seen our room before, but this was a _date_. We had to at least leave the _impression_ that we weren't total slobs. We all let fly different cuss words as we dove for our respective messes. We had a week. If we each skipped a class or two, we just might make it.

...

I was in the middle of actual work when it happened. I was walking a sophomore through his very first PowerPoint when my e-mail alerts cheerfully interrupted to say I had better things to do. Unfortunately, I was being paid to care about the stupid kid and I had to ignore it. And then I had to ignore the buzzing of my phone for the next twenty minutes. And since it had been a while since we actually had something to analyze, there was LOTS of buzzing, which meant that I spent most of those twenty minutes twitching. My poor sophomore actually started asking if I needed to get that, but Cami would have killed me if it got back to her that I was taking personal calls (or texts) during work. So I showed him how to add an audio clip, set up another appointment and smiled right up until he left the room.

Then I hauled butt back to my laptop and went in search of something alien-related to read.

* * *

**TEN WAYS TO REIGNITE THE SPARK**

LOL Saw this article and just had to laugh. ksl(.com)/?nid=1010&sid=23987505

Anybody else got any suggestions?

**Comments:**

BringTheRain: My knee-jerk reaction - jumper cables.

NurseRatched: I wish it were that easy.

Optimust: To my knowledge, there is only one way.

Ladiesman217: Don't look at me.

Spitfire: Read the article, boys.

* * *

Having learned better with the alien-robot fangirls, I took a second to do just that. I clicked on the link and it pulled up an article titled "10 Ways to Reignite the Spark" with a picture of a fake-looking happy couple and written by an equally fake-chipper author. It was a Dear Abby kind of thing, and the "life coach" writer was handing out relationship advice in honor of Valentine's Day. And the aliens were going to comment on it...

* * *

BeeFF: *pfft* This thing is so flawed! The first piece of advice they give a guy is "get professional help." Like ANY male of ANY species is gonna do that willingly. I *am* a mechanic and I can't tell you how many thousands of dollars guys have spent trying to fix stuff after they broke it almost (or entirely) beyond repair because they were *sure* they could take care of it themselves.

NurseRatched: QFT

ElectricBlue: We're not that bad, BeeFF. *Sometimes* we ask for help.

S&M: From dem 1-900 numbers.

IncidentalSidekick: Not since the internet.

Faithful: True confessions...

BeeFF: Not surprised.

OneManAlone: Moving on...at light speed.

Spitfire: You know, most of these are good suggestions for any relationship.

Survivor: So you want me to ask permission before telling you what I think?

Spitfire: Um...Except for that one.

NotTheToothFairy: A real femme pulls out a plasma cannon if she's not getting enough respect. None of this passive-aggressive pussy-footing around.

ConSlayer: Been there, done that, got the scorch-marks to prove it.

S&M: Ya wish!

NotTheToothFairy: (to CS) Exactly! No need for "professional help." Nothing like some firepower to make a spark jump!

BikerChick: *headdesk*

Camaro76: You're about the only one who hasn't weighed in, BC. So tell us, as an expert on the female psyche, do *you* feel unappreciated?

BikerChick: Yeah, about as much as you feel unloved. :P Honestly, the only one that perks my interest is #9. Survivor and Ladiesman, I *dare* you to ask Spitfire and BeeFF how you can do better as a mate.

Camaro76: Oooh! I double-dog dare you!

IncidentalSidekick: WTF? Double-dog dare? Are you watching "Leave It To Beaver" now?

OneManAlone: As much as I hate to agree with Gameboy, QFT.

IncidentalSidekick: "Gameboy"? Why couldn't you have come up with a username like that for me, BeeFF? At least it would be more accurate than *Incidental* Sidekick.

BrassEagle (mod): You have the username you do because I rejected her other proposed names on the grounds that profanity is unbefitting this blog.

Camaro76: (to BC) If Survivor *does* get up the nerve to ask, you'll send me footage, right?

BikerChick: Only if you promise to swap vids.

IncidentalSidekick: I'm not sure if I should be creeped out or turned on.

BikerChick: (to IS) *thump*

ElectricBlue: Be creeped out. These two can get blackmail on anybody. They've raised voyeurism to an art form.

BikerChick: *takes a bow*

Camaro76: We're scouts. That's why we make the big money.

Optimust: Fortunately they're mostly harmless.

BringTheRain: *blink*

OneManAlone: (to Optimust) Did you really just make a reference to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?

LadiesMan217: Yes, he did. He's evil that way. Trust me.

* * *

I opened my email and started reading through my roommies' analysis. Leo and Sam were both wondering what size towel Optimust the probably-alien might need while Sharsky was drooling over hot alien babes wielding bazookas (especially since the weaponry would probably be aimed at NtTF instead of him).

I opened up an IM convo with Sharsky. /You alone?/

/Kinda. Sam and Leo are on their laptops here, but I'm in the server room./

/So...assuming Cam is Camaro76, should WE be creeped out?/

/Well unlike the boss, I'm definitely not turned on./

I snorted. /No joke. But you were freaked out about our rooms being bugged.../

His cursor sat there blinking for several seconds before he finally typed, /Yeah. It's us against the alien super-spy, looks like. And his alien hottie./

/Think they're together?/

I re-read the posts and then shook my head. /I think he wishes they were but she kind of brushes him off./

/Maybe,/ he answered, and I could almost see his shoulders droop in disappointment. /We should keep an eye on him anyway, see if there's any girl he DOES flirt with. After all, we have no idea where the rest of them are or even where Cam goes when he's not with Sam. Stands to reason that they wouldn't leave him completely on his own. BikerChick could be ANYWHERE./

Hot alien babe around any corner? Okay, maybe I was starting to side with Leo a little.


	32. 10 Ways to Extinguish the Spark

Author's note: Recently, Eowyn77 swapped a story for a story with one of our readers. It was fun to see someone take one of our dares and run with it. Well, there is a speech mentioned in this chapter. Ish dares anyone to write the door-christening speech and, yes, you have to use all three of the mentioned contributors.

Also, a shout out to our Botosphere Yahoo! group for their help with the blog posts. As Sam says, all of the situations mentioned are real experiences we either were subjected to or were witnesses of. (Simmons' is the only exception and it's based on DotM canon.)

* * *

By the time I got up the next morning, we had a new door. Sam had found the form pretty quickly with Lisbeth's pointer and (after a false start, a mad scramble for white-out and the search for a copier so as NOT to adulterate the original in April's handbook) Leo had filled out the form with handwriting so neat it practically dripped suck-up. The door should have been there the next day, but April had let us go almost a week with a door made of duct tape and trash bags that we had swiped from the cleaning crews.

The door that was somehow installed before my alarm clock went off was the ordinary type, but it was one-of-a-kind. All of the doors in the dorm had that polished, parent-impressing look, but this one looked like it should be optimistically described as "Gently Pre-Used" on eBay. It was scuffed and missing a couple of chunks in the wood, like someone had knocked it down when they forgot their keys one time too many. April had probably found something one good nudge away from collapse so she could kick us out when it blew apart next. From the looks of things, it wouldn't last a gentle door-tapping.

We all treated it like a new baby, of course. We didn't slam it when we were pissed off. We didn't throw our shoulder against it when it stuck. We sure as hell didn't knock it (no pun intended). Eventually, we decided that we had to do some kind of ritual sacrifice to-for lack of a better phrase-break it in.

In case things went horribly wrong, we decided to do it on the 12th. That gave us two days to exorcise whatever evil demon April had hired to make the thing appropriately dangerous. Sharsky was still adamantly against letting me have caffeine, but he agreed that I could have a Bull for the ceremony, the way parents let their teenagers have a sip of champagne at Cousin Wendy's wedding.

We were techies, but we weren't nerds, so it took a quick Google search and making friends with the Engineering guys on the Honors floor before we had the bottle rigged up. We even let Dale, the preppy with the pulley, come along for the main event. Sharsky paraphrased Jean-Luc Picard, Khan and - I think - Jesus Christ to make it sound all official and after we'd made sure that April wasn't lurking around, we smashed the bottle of Martinelli's and gave the new door three cheers for surviving the first test of strength, and then tried surreptitiously to clean up the bottle and sparkling cider before anyone complained about broken glass.

After my Bull binge, I had a lot of trouble staying up at night. It was probably the fault of caffeine-deprivation, but I found it damn near impossible to stay up long enough to watch Jay Leno. If I ever got back on a normal sleep schedule, I was going to have to torture Sharsky hard-core.

The result was that Leo stuck me on early-morning modding duties every time. I was now the only one able to be up at 6 a.m. and he claimed it was an easy job. It mostly meant that I had to delete all the stuff that people tried to slip into discussion threads while we were too tired to remember the Terms of Service.

This morning, it meant that I was the first of us to notice that a Buzz post had gone up during the night. This was the reward for my sacrifice!

* * *

**10 WAYS TO EXTINGUISH THE SPARK**

So yeah Camaro76 says I have more experience with this sort of thing and I still haven't decided if that's a compliment or not but he asked me to write this week's blog post since it's almost Valentine's Day. So after the last post about reigniting romance here are some things that will totally kill that romantic buzz. For the record all of these are true but none of them were done to or by me. - LadiesMan217

1. Don't propose with "I get the impression you'd like to marry me."

2. If you forget your wallet on a blind date and are expecting the nice girl who is putting up with you to pay, don't ask her 'What's up with how fat you are?'

3. On your second date, don't ask the boy who's taking you out "What are your intentions towards me?" unless you can deal with him answering "I was going to ask you to marry me."

4. If you go to great lengths to spend time with the girl and she asks you if you're here to visit anyone in particular, the answer is NOT "no." She will try to set you up with other girls.

5. Unless you know for a fact that the girl really likes it, hanging out at your house to play video games is not a good choice for a first date.

6. Make sure when you ask a girl out that she is aware what you are asking for and are actually on a date.

7. Don't even think about hitting on your girlfriend's younger sister, especially after you've broken up.

8. Don't ask out a girl immediately after she has had a wardrobe malfunction.

9. If someone you're interested in asks "What are you doing on Saturday?" don't make up fictional events to keep from sounding like you're a loser with nothing to do on weekends.

10. Do not - under any circumstances - pop your date's zits in public. And preferably not anywhere for that matter.

Thoughts?

**Comments:**

BeeFF: If you hear a rumor that your date is related to a convicted felon within one degree of familiarity, don't ask her to confirm it.

LadiesMan217: There really isn't _anything_ I can say here, is there? Including this.

IncidentalSidekick: (to BeeFF) You're related to a felon? That's hot.

Camaro76: (to IS) *thump* And if you commit #2, don't expect your roommate to come pay your tab either. Next time we will just laugh and leave.

NurseRatched: I must agree with #10. In my extensive observation of humankind, I have recognized a severe deficit in the matter of personal hygiene. These are fleshy creatures who require large-printed signs to remind them to wash fecal matter from their hands following biological waste disposal. I doubt that there are many humans who properly sterilize their hands before attempting to 'pop' a zit. This becomes more appalling when we consider that they rarely clean beneath their fingernails, either after use of the bathroom or after consuming food. If you pop your date's zits, you expose them to your own biological waste, the microbes that are found anywhere from the dust on a handrail to a kitchen counter, chemical compounds that should not be mixed under any circumstances and, worst of all, decaying food products. I recommend a level three decontamination procedure preceded, of course, by proper training in the dermatological sciences before you presume to interact with a human epidermis.

IncidentalSidekick: Okay. Forget popping zits. I'm wearing a hazmat suit next time I kiss a girl.

Ladiesman217: That's what we've been telling you all along. For her good, mostly.

Spitfire: When going to the ballet/symphony, do NOT take your date through a fast food drive-through, especially if dinner is all you have to pay for.

Survivor: Just to be clear, THAT WASN'T ME.

Spitfire: No, you haven't tried to take me to the ballet/symphony...

Survivor: Only because I don't want to bring up painful memories for the both of us. Me of having to stay awake through the ballet version of _Dracula_, you of having your slinky dress stained with fry sauce.

Spitfire: You treat me so well.

BringtheRain: Don't go bowling. It never turns out well. Worst example - too much sweat on the ball so it leaves my hand on the back swing. Resounding crash amid the tables. Turn in horror and embarrassment to see both date and chaperone doing a very wide eyed "Kilroy was here" impressions over the back barrier where they had leapt to safety.

S&M: Yeouch, BtR! Waz dis chick befo' or afta da divorce?

Survivor: Don't mention an ex on Valentine's Day to anyone who's been divorced.

OneManAlone: Don't get drunk in Budapest. Especially with a partner you hate. She just might be the most amazing woman ever once her inhibitions are gone.

IncidentalSidekick: BrassEagle, can we PLEASE get that comment deleted?

BrassEagle (mod): Tempting, but no.

Camaro76: Here's a round of brain bleach for everybody, on the house!

BeeFF: Thanks, C76, I needed that.

BikerChick: Don't ask the sister of the girl you want to date to carry a "courtship request" to her.

Spitfire: Tell me he didn't.

BikerChick: lol He did. It was hysterical. :) I teased them both forever.

NotTheToothFairy: Optimust! #7!

Optimust: (to NtTF) *thump* #8

NotTheToothFairy: A weapons malfunction doesn't count.

ConSlayer: For you it does.

BeeFF: Don't bring a girl to a romantic look-out and play racy songs and then pretend your engine is dead before you even go on a first date.

Camaro76: Guilty as charged. Second date's okay though, right?

BeeFF: lol For the *right* guy, yes.

Ladiesman217: I love you.

Ladiesman217: Did I say that out loud?

BeeFF: Yes. You did.

Ladiesman217: I mean...Okay, it's almost Valentine's Day and I love you. And it's okay for us to say that now right? So I said it. Who cares if everybody knows? It's not like they couldn't guess anyway. I. Love. You. There! I said it! I love you!

BeeFF: I love you, too. :)

Camaro76: (to LM) You have learned well, young Padawan.

BikerChick: That makes you the master? *snort*

* * *

I could have blown my stack. I definitely had the right to. Sam had stooped pretty low when he joined the blog solo. He'd gone too far when he let Leo in on it and left the rest of us out. But this was too far. Seriously too far.

I ignored my first instinct and didn't dump his computer in the tub. I was, however, in the middle of resetting his alarm clock when Sharsky wandered through on the way to the bathroom.

"Um," he said intelligently.

"Go pee. Then buzz."

"There's a Buzz post?" he practically squealed.

"_Shhhhhhhhhhh_," I hissed. "It'll wait."

He was back in record time and went straight for his laptop, since it would take too long to get his desktop powered up. I knew he'd gotten to the good stuff when my phone vibrated and I saw /O KNOW HE DIN NT./ Sharsky was very enthusiastic, if completely incapable of correct spelling when he was half-awake.

"Yeah," I said when we were in the same room again. "He's dead to us."

"No, no, man," Sharsky insisted. "We can't make him pay if he's dead to us. It's more fun if we can kill him."

"And what about Leo?" I shot back. "He just sat back and LET him."

"Leo probably couldn't stop it," Sharsky said fairly. "It's not like he's got all that much pull with these guys. Have you seen the way they talk to him?"

"Yeah, he's like the nerdy twerp that's trying to hang out with the cool guys." Sometimes - not today - I felt a little sorry for IncidentalSidekick. "But Sam! The jerk didn't even ask us!"

"He didn't even let us proofread!"

"He should have known he sucks at this after the whole Gatsby thing," I said. "And we have a lot more to contribute to romantic buzz-kills than the guy who's snogging a _Sports Illustrated_ chick!"

"He didn't even _ask_ us," Sharsky echoed. He sounded more dejected than angry now. "Did he think we had nothing to say?"

The guy who lived to be a cautionary tale could have made a masterpiece out of the subject. I could have just made it funny.

"He's going _down_," I said firmly.

"We're going to take him down to Chinatown...4," Sharsky quoted.

The bossman had all the same classes as Sam, so we couldn't corner him in our dorm until that evening when Ladies Man was on a webcam date with his hottie.

"So..." Sharsky said, ominously cracking his knuckles.

Leo looked up from the latest batch of proofs for wannabe calendar kitties. "So what?"

"LadiesMan got to guest-blog," I growled in my best Christian Bale Batman impression. "Know anything about it?"

"Yeah," he huffed, "Backstreet Boyfriend just had to make that crack about the fat chick. It was totally a joke - it's not my fault she didn't have a sense of humor!"

Sharsky and I exchanged a look. "So you didn't have _any_ input?" I demanded.

He looked at me and then Sharsky suddenly suspicious. "Not this time," he said with offhand bravado, "but Cam's going to figure out I've got way more to contribute than kewpie-doll and have me blog soon. Maybe even do a podcast."

"You do, and you shut us out like Alienboy did this time, and I'll plaster your walls with posters of the the hula honeys pic Mikaela sent us!" Sharsky snarled.

"You guys are taking it really personally," he muttered, a slow smirk creeping across his face.

"You're effin right we are!" I retorted. "Did you see that post? He didn't use a single comma. I was getting cross-eyed trying to read it. He totally needs a proofreader and passed us up even after I rescued that paper for him!"

"We're gonna teach him a lesson," Sharsky added. "You want in?"

His expression was that of a guy who had noticed that an Uzi was aimed at the guy next to him. "Hell yeah!"

We didn't waste any time getting our revenge on. Dinner was the first op. Sam probably wouldn't have noticed that anything was wrong, except we left him out of the loop on takeout. While I made sure that Sharsky had his kung-pao chicken and Leo got the right number of potstickers, I ordered myself some volcano shrimp and closed the order. The food arrived forty-five minutes later and Alienboy couldn't find a single egg roll.

"Hey," he whined. "Call them back. They forgot my stuff."

"Did they?" I asked. "Sharsky, you've got the receipt. Check it."

Sharsky had been tutored well, so he made a huge show of going down it, like he was some kind of shampoo-fearing Santa Claus reviewing the naughty list.

"Kung-pao chicken, check," he said solemnly. "Volcano shrimp..."

"Check," I confirmed, hoisting a prawn.

"Potstickers and sweet and sour pork, hold the veggies, extra noodles..."

Leo grunted, since his mouth was full.

"Two egg rolls and mooshoo pork," Sam said hopefully.

"Not on there," Sharsky said. "You snooze you lose."

"You snooze you..." He blinked. "We always get it. Since when is there snoozing involved?"

"Meh." I shrugged. "You can have Sharsky's fried rice."

"Hell, no," Sharsky protested. "Mine!"

It was a lose-lose thing. Sam hated anything spicier than a peppermint and he was germaphobic enough to avoid sharing anything with Sharsky. It wasn't paranoia, just good hygiene.

"Fortune cookie?" Sam suggested hopefully.

"No way," I said. "Mom wouldn't stand for you swiping my karma. There will be no swiping."

Sam looked like we'd just wiped his hard drive. If there was ever a place to use the word crestfallen, it would have been now.

"Check the fridge," I said blithely. "I think we've still got some cheesy bread."

We hadn't fired a shot, waterboarded anyone or even raised our voices, but we'd tortured the boy and it was a start.

The next day, we were less subtle. We still had leftovers, so we didn't have to forget his order again, but before the crack of dawn, Leo did something much more sinister. He changed the wireless key.

Without an in with the bossman, Sam was screwed. He couldn't connect to the printer, so he had ended up 20 minutes late while he ran to a computer lab and stood in line with every other deprived idiot on campus. When he got back and figured out that all his trouble-shooting couldn't get through to his usual network, he had already missed several IMs from Mikaela. I blandly suggested he could use the campus wireless network available to anyone in the hall. It was stable enough if it weren't the middle of the freaking Olympics when everyone was trying to stream their favorite sport. IM's got through...usually.

Worse, we stopped talking about the blog. He thrived on knowing how he was getting to us. It was cheaper entertainment than Netflix and we weren't budging an inch. For a whole evening, he tried to point out some cool comments and we talked LOST spoilers over him. It wasn't like we were trying to make him cry, we just wanted him to suffer for his sins.

Sunday morning was our work time. We ditched homework, ditched family obligations and worked on our true religion - acquisition of wealth. Or at least that was the practice until the morning of the Polygadate.

But after a day and a half of Project Distant Roommates, Sam was ready to act like a two-year-old.

"We gotta talk," he demanded from MY desk chair. Apparently, he'd figured out that I was the ringleader this time and that meant he was ready to play dirty. "SIT."

I jabbed a finger at the throne. "My chair."

"My intervention, my rules," he snapped.

I could have kicked his butt or broken out the pepper spray that Nancy had given me for a going-away present. But he was cornered and he was liable to get mean. He'd survived being at the epicenter of an alien invasion - that had to count for something. I wasn't messing with that, no matter how pissed I was.

"Fair enough," I said level-headedly.

I went to get the rest of my shrimp and parked my butt on the couch. Sharsky went straight to his computer and pulled up WoW. Leo went to Photoshop and ignored him. The only reason I paid attention was because he was probably going to revenge-trash my desk chair and/or my desktop settings if I turned my back.

"This has to stop," Sam said gruffly.

Sharsky sniggered and long-distance high-fived me. We had the high ground and the enemy in our sights.

"T-minus how many hours?" Leo asked.

"Eleven," Sharsky said. "I win the time bet, you win the day bet and Fassbinder's just SOL."

"You're acting like kindergarteners," Sam accused.

"We're acting like hackers," I shot back. "You signed up for it."

I could practically hear the voices in his head counting to ten.

"Is this because you don't have..."

"Girlfriends?" Leo asked. "No, _mijo_, don't have no time for anyone but myself."

"Word," I agreed. "We can do without the clingy chicks."

He had the good sense not to talk about our Polygadate. "Is it about..."

"Your bad-ass car?" Sharsky added.

"Your awesome hair?" I sniggered.

"Are you guys going to let me talk?"

I shrugged. "We can do without."

"Yeah," Leo agreed. "Fassbinder, where are we on Easter kittens?"

"Still in negotiations with Lian's cousin's friend who has the tabby," I said. "She says she'll do some catsploitation if we kick in an Amazon gift card and some t-shirts."

"Is it about the blog?"

We took some time off to smirk.

"Pretty quick on the uptake, aren't you?" Sharsky said. "You should've known the minute we forgot your mooshoo."

"Yeah," I said. "'Is this about the blog?' Ya _THINK_?"

Sam stuttered. "It wasn't about you..." He squirmed.

"Ha!" Sharsky burst out, pointing an accusing finger.

"Well, not _really_..." he muttered in a quieter tone.

"He confirms!" I crowed, taking that as capitulation.

"Well, okay, some of them were, but you guys are such..." He fumbled frantically for something suckuppy to say. "Great inspiration."

"Yeah, and you didn't ask us," Leo said. "Bad move, _mijo_."

"First you let Leo in on the whole blog thing-" Sharsky started.

"Water under the bridge," Leo dismissed. "It wasn't his call to make."

"Yeah," Sam protested. "Mikaela set up the whole thing!"

"No, no, NO," I shouted. "It ain't water under the bridge until you and your aliens, or your girlfriend, or your alien girlfriend get us in on the game."

"Working on it," Sam interrupted, looking slightly sulky.

"And now," Sharsky burst out, "you're educating the aliens and didn't think we had anything to say!"

"YEAH!" I brandished my phone. "That's low! Totally below the belt!"

Sam may have started this intervention, but he looked ready to crawl into a corner and die if it got him out of it. "It's not like I had a choice! They made first contact during class and I had, like, twenty minutes to get it submitted or they were going to let S&M write the dating advice!"

"Ooooh," Sharsky groaned.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwww," Leo added.

"I had to," Sam pleaded.

"You still froze us out," I said firmly. "That's not something we're going to forget."

"I noticed." He gave us all a hangdog look and then vacated the desk chair. I dived for it and had just put cheeks to cushions when he hit the floor knees first. "Guys..." Sam Witwicky, blogger to the stars, clasped his hands in front of him like he was ready to start praying to us malevolent gods. "It's Valentine's Day. If you ever believed in love, can you just give me the network key?"

We'd been prepared. I turned to my computer, pulled up the last file I'd been working on and hit the print button.

"Fetch," I ordered him.

He fetched-still on his knees. When he came back, he handed the paper over immediately. I shoved it back into his hands.

"Your acts of penitence," I explained. "If we were Catholics, we'd have you do Hail Marys until you were absolved. THIS..."

He looked at the list that started with "3 pepperoni pizzas" and ended with "fridge-defunking duty."

"THIS is how you get off our blacklists," I said. "Non-negotiable."

For a chance to talk to Mikaela, he probably would have gotten the pizzas on his hands and knees.

"Pennsylvania Pies on 3rd opens for lunch in an hour," Sharsky added. "We like 'em fresh."

Sam was still looking horror-struck at the idea that we had a list for him, but he looked longingly in the direction of his webcam and I knew we had him.

"And you'll give me the network key?" he said.

"Yes, Cinderella, if you finish all your chores then you can go to the ball," I said magnanimously.

"We'll even get you Chinese tomorrow," Leo said. "We're not sadistic."

"But we're not forgiving or forgetting either," Sharsky pointed out. "You're still in deep poodoo until that list's finished."

"Next time you go on TV, we're letting you do your own hair," I added in as sinister a voice as I could manage.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Sam said, looking like a prisoner who'd gotten 2 years suspended sentence instead of death row. "You guys are wise and powerful..."

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all before," I said. "Go in peace."

He was out the door in ten seconds flat.

...

The room was ready. We'd gone on a mighty quest for a vacuum and only had to change the bag twice. We'd discovered about thirty bucks in loose change. There weren't any scented candles or anything, but we'd broken out the Febreeze again. With ten minutes to go before the pizza showed up and five before the girls made an appearance, I did what any non-suicidal male techie would do: I went monitor by monitor, making sure that the naughtiest thing on the screen was a Maine coon chewing on a composition book for our Back to School calendar. Leo was fussing over the surround sound but the other guys weren't even trying to help. Sharsky was all about raiding the Doritos Cam had decided to protect, and Sam was busy primping for his webdate.

I stopped at Leo's computer long enough to change his homepage to the family-friendly Google, complete with holiday/Olympic doodle. I activated some password protection so Katie couldn't accidentally see the contents of his desktop background, much less his browsing history. I was about to lock it up for the party when I noticed a background application running. My heart sank. I checked the light on the device clipped to the top of the screen and my gorge rose. I didn't know how long he'd had the webcam running, but it was NOT a good idea.

And then I saw it wasn't the only one I had to worry about.

"No!" I protested, trying to snatch it off the TV without sending our prized electronic possession crashing to the floor to an untimely death. "No vids!"

Sam poked his head into the room at that.

"Even I know that's not cool," Sharsky said with a superior/disapproving look. "We're not going to get _that_ much action tonight."

"And not with the world watching," I added. "I can't put the moves on anyone if there's a chance my Mom might find it!"

"Chill, _mijo_," Leo cajoled. "This'll be for internal use only. Ain't nada going on Youtube."

"Ain't _nada_ going on Sharsky's external hard drive," I negotiated.

Sharsky, for once being something other than his creeptastic self, nodded firmly. "Save it for later."

So much for growing up. I ignored that. "Back me up on this, Sam."

"Webcams are for webdates, not real ones," he proclaimed, strolling into the room. Cam solemnly nodded in agreement.

"Lisbeth freaked out at the idea of still shots. If she knew..."

And right on cue, there was a knock on our door. The bossman looked smug, but Sharsky opened the door before I could cuff Leo. Sam just rolled his eyes and returned to his preening, Cam in tow like an overgrown puppy.

"Lisbeth," Leo greeted warmly. "We were just talking about you."

"Good things, I hope," she answered as she and her roommate stepped inside. They brought a salad with shriveled cranberries, cinnamon almonds and stuff and a pink sauce they said was strawberry. It was a salad without cheese... And it seemed girly. On closer inspection, there wasn't any bacon in sight, so it definitely _was_ girly. "And just because I've never had a reason to do this before, so don't get any ideas..."

Okay.

She pulled out some weird orange-red roses from behind her back...wait... nooo. It was bacon. Bacon roses. I had heard the legend of them but never seen one. "For me?"

"For all of you, I saw it on a craft website and wanted to give it a go."

It was going to look uber-girly, but I couldn't resist. I shoved my nose into the closest one and breathed deep. It was like living off win.

"This is awesome," I said. "Thanks."

Sharsky swooped in with our own semi-romantic goodie - Hershey's Kiss roses that they'd been selling on campus all week. "Miladies," he said with a flourish.

They didn't roll their eyes, just laughed. Katie even curtsied. Apparently, she wasn't as uptight as I'd originally thought.

"Come on in," I said. "Pizza's on its way."

"Where's Sam?" Lisbeth asked.

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder towards the partially open door of Leo and Sam's room, "He's got a webdate." as I backed up to allow them entrance.

Lisbeth entered first, sniffing. "Air freshener?"

"Hawaiian Aloha," Sharsky confirmed. "It was either that or Kiwiberry Breeze."

"It's nice," Katie said. "Where does food go?"

"Mouth," I said in unrehearsed unison with Sharsky.

Neither of the girls laughed. Neither did our bros. To avoid making the moment even more awkward, I pointed to the table usually occupied by our bookbags.

"Food goes over there. Can I take your coats?"

They stripped off their winter coats. Katie was wearing a non-festive green sweater, but Lisbeth was wearing a bright pink turtleneck with little white hearts all over it. It was about as unsexy as clothing came, since it simultaneously covered up EVERYTHING and looked like her mom had bought it for her in middle school. See, she wasn't interested in me. Totally platonic.

"You look nice," I said honestly. It was too bad she'd taken the chastity-belt route instead of wearing something a little low-cut, but her hair was washed and she was wearing clean jeans, so it was true even if it was a little disappointing. I hoped it wasn't my fault, like a great big sign of "I would never ever date you" for my benefit. "And I like the green. Red is so mainstream."

Katie looked at my bright red "Have you tried turning it off and on again" t-shirt. "So I've heard," she deadpanned.

Lisbeth was looking over her shoulder. "You got a...door."

"Yes!" I said, happy to have something other than her little-girl clothes to talk about. "New door."

"New?" she echoed. "Its dented."

"It's from the christening," Sharsky explained.

"You..." She squinted at the dents. "Tell me you didn't actually break a bottle of champagne."

"Please!" Sharsky snorted. "We're all under age. It was sparkling cider."

"Not a Red Bull?" she asked.

"No use in wasting it," I said. "The dent's from the metal cap. The trajectory was...off."

She was probably picturing us thumping the door like some neanderthals, not using an advanced pulley system to honor maritime tradition. I quickly changed the subject.

"Pick any seat you want," I offered. "We'll work around you."

Lisbeth and Katie sat together, probably out of some female solidarity need or something. Leo, never one to be far from his website, sat backwards on his desk chair. Sam was still nowhere to be seen, and Cam was trying the whole sprawling thing on the floor and looking more like a golden retriever than a beefcake.

"Cam, this is Katie and Lisbeth. Katie, Lisbeth, Cam."

"We've seen him around," Katie said, a slight edge to her voice. "I thought you were with Delta U?"

He shook his head "no" and raised a hand to slap them high-fives. Apparently, he didn't feel like quoting something. I picked Lisbeth's side of the couch, while Sharsky elbowed his way into the seat between the roommate and her arm rest.

"So what are we watching?" Lisbeth asked.

"Good old Indiana Jones - Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." I announced, picking up the DVD new release.

Lisbeth made an approving sound while Katie looked simply tolerating.

Just then there was a rap at our door. It was the pizza guy, I could smell it through the pizza bag as I was drawn to it. Even as Leo paid. Mmm.

"Hey," our male pizza guy said glancing at the girls, smiling widely. I narrowed my eyes at him, Hey. Our girls. We had reserved them.

"Date night?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No." Katie exclaimed with more horror than was necessary.

Needless to say his tip was tiny. We slammed the door in his face, but before we could put the pizza beside the girly salad, Sam was back. His hair looked exactly like it had when he'd gone to fix it, but he'd apparently given up and hoped that Mikaela would find his dorkiness hot because he was _not_ trusting us to save him a piece.

Not two minutes later, there was another knock. Dude it was the opening credits with the testing to see if our ears still worked part. Who was here? Leo answered and two babes in frilly dresses were there. So unfair.

"Hello, lay-deees," Leo began.

"Is Cam here?" they asked. Leo totally deflated and pointed to the only imitation man here.

The girls waved at Katie and Lisbeth and just passed us on by, like a cupcake delivery to the wrong cubicle. I could even smell the girly perfume as they passed by. Just a whiff. Then they were all flirty with the alien. On Single's Awareness Day. Oh the humanity. Or not.

Prior to the arrival of his cupcakes, Cam had been laying on the floor in front of the couch on his side with his elbow propping up his head, but when the girls snuggled up next to him, he immediately got to his feet and snuck into the other room only to return with a blanket that he graciously laid out for them all to sit on.

The problem with this arrangement was that the frillies were only here to hit on the alien stud. They kept trying to talk over Harrison Ford and had no appreciation for the atom bombing. A third one joined as Indy climbed out of the refrigerator. I tried to shut them up in as polite a way as possible.

"Pizza?" I offered.

"Is it gluten-free?" Frilly 1 asked.

"Is it cheeseless?" Frilly 2 added.

"I'm a vegan," the third one said.

I got her a carrot from the salad to shut her up. Gluten-free spent the next five minutes picking all the toppings off and eating them individually. Cheeseless decided that wasn't such an issue after all and ate two slices. Cam appeared to not care, getting the vegan a soda when she said it was probably the only thing in here that hadn't suffered before it died.

Since Katie and Lisbeth were the only ones we'd actually invited and we weren't bird-dogging Cam's action, we pretty much ignored the new arrivals. That led to a few smirks and self-satisfied looks exchanged between Lisbeth and Katie. I thought we'd solved the problem, but just as that thought popped into my head, Frilly 1 stood up and put her hands on her hips.

"There's a party on the second floor of Chapman," she announced. "Want to come?"

"Dude," Sharsky complained. "We haven't gotten to the part with the killer ants!"

She gave him one of those "I wasn't talking to YOU" looks that he'd been ignoring since kindergarten and turned to Cam.

"Call us if you want to come with," she said.

He gave them a thumbs up and they made a ridiculously complicated ritual out of saying goodbye with significant brushing up against his various muscle groups. One was all about the biceps, another about the abs. He didn't seem bothered.

I had just gone for seconds on the pizza when Lisbeth said, "It's getting hot in here." She even lifted her hair away from her neck.

I wasn't about to turn down the heat in a Pennsylvania February, but I could offer her an ice cube or something. I turned around from the food table to ask if she wanted something from the freezer and found that she was halfway out of her top. I heard Leo's plate hit the floor just before the ringing in my ears started up. Holy crap, it was like she went from prude to practically-nude in five seconds flat.

Sharsky said while still staring at the screen, "Humans generate their own heat, as do electronics so when you put them together in a high concentration that is the result. Pass the Doritos."

"Sharsky," I hissed.

He waved a hand. "Pass the Doritos, PLEASE."

I, meanwhile, was trying not to look. It wasn't like she was topless, but she was in one of those dark red lacy sleeveless undershirt things and if I looked hard enough, I could count the freckles on her back. I take back what I said about red being overrated. Oh, geez. She'd kill me if I looked hard enough. Or looked at all. I tried looking at the movie, but vixen!Lisbeth was in the way. I tried studying the ceiling and noticed that there was a worrying stain up there. Another one.

"Um..." I couldn't think of anything to say. Lisbeth turned around, turtleneck in hand. I blurted out the only thing that didn't sound pervy. "Do you want that over here with your coat?"

She looked either exasperated or pissed. She flung the shirt in my direction and I took a very long time folding it and putting it next to her parka.

"Told you," she said to Katie.

"Wow." Katie, glanced at Cam and Leo, impressed somehow by our least cool roommate and the alien. Who, I might add, didn't get them any drinks or pizza. "Most guys aren't that secure and cool with it."

"Well, Sam's dating, and Cam's still popular so..." Lisbeth shrugged.

"Yeah." Katie said. "I guess."

"Shh. Movie." Sharsky said.

It's like he didn't even know there were chicks around. A rack completely wasted. A very nice... I caught her eye. Ceiling! Eyes on ceiling. Damn. She'd caught me being all voyeuristic and now I'd be screwed if I didn't spend the next hour staring at something on the other side of the room from her barely-visible pink bra strap. But I wasn't going to be on the receiving end of a "My eyes are up HERE" lecture.

"So, what is he?" Lisbeth pointed at Cam, who was back to enjoying a movie about aliens other than himself.

That was an impolite way to refer to him, even if she didn't know he was an alien. "What do you mean?"

"These are four-person dorms," Katie said. "You've got five here."

"He can't be your roommate."

For all I knew he had one of those Borg docking stations like Seven of Nine, but really, the subject hadn't come up. The official story was he probably lived out of his car or something.

"No, he's just here a lot for Sam."

"Ohh... Is he the guy you said was Sam's secretary? Or wait, is he... I thought Sam had a girlfriend." Lisbeth looked confused.

"There are some needs even Mikaela can't address," Sharsky said sagely, since flat-out admitting Cam was an alien would probably get us another visit from G.I. Jamal. Sharsky's hand coming precariously close to Katie's thigh as he quested for more chips.

Katie spewed Coke so far I worried about damage to the flat screen. Lisbeth covered her mouth then slumped so low that all I could see of her was her ponytail. I had to agree that it sounded bad, and Sam's freakiness would reflect badly on all of us.

"This I've gotta see," Katie said.

She grabbed the remote, hit pause and stomped off towards Sam's semi-open door. "Move over," she barked. "I hear there's a girl involved."

I heard Mikaela's voice, kind of tinny and skeptical. "There are girls there?" she asked. "Inflatable or real?"

"Real," Lisbeth said, joining Katie at the computer, "They are our tech gods and we came to hang out at their altar."

That would have been flattering if she hadn't deadpanned the whole line.

"'Kaela," Sam introduced. "This is Lisbeth and Katie. Lisbeth and Katie, this is Mikaela. My girlfriend."

"You're dating _Sam_?" Lisbeth exclaimed in disbelief. It was good to know she was with the rest of us when it came to the insanity that was unmasculine freakish alien-probed Sam's dating life. How did he end up with the hottie?

"You agreed to spend time with his roommates?" Mikaela said in the same tone.

Hey!

"And what's wrong with Sam?" she defensively added.

Lisbeth frowned and gestured at Sam. "Do you know about the nature of your boyfriend's relationship with Cam?"

"Yeah," Mikaela said, "and I'm cool with it."

"You're cool with it?" Lisbeth said in sqeaky disbelief.

"He and Sam have been him and Sam a lot longer," she said confidently. "I'm glad they're there for each other."

"Good for you?" Katie said.

"Good for _you_," Mikaela answered. "It's not your average person who's willing to date anyone in that dorm."

"It's not a date!" Katie justified, "Just pizza and a..." she looked horrified, "movie."

In fact, Katie looked close to tears. Like she hadn't planned on it going like this at all.

"Polygadate," I reminded her tactfully . Lisbeth gave Katie a quick hug and I thought I heard something about how Sam used to be the normal one.

Needless to say my ego, which had taken many low blows this evening from the alien getting all the chicks, was shriveling. I needed a break. I needed to code something and a Red Bull.

"They're not all bad," Lisbeth argued. I perked up. She was practically defending me! "My internet at home has never been better."

I straightened up. I did that. Not Cam or Sam or any of the guys on campus who had a girlfriend. Me.

"We're the guys with _all_ the connections," Sharsky said with waggly eyebrows. "And soufflés."

"Was that supposed to be an innuendo?" Mikaela scoffed.

"Guys, guys lets all just calm down here," Sam said, probably not wanting to get his Internet or girlfriend brownie points revoked. "You can go back to your...movie and Mikaela and I will get back to our date." He stood up, leaving the laptop where it was sitting, and very politely showed us the door. This time he closed it all the way.

As we resumed the movie, I tried to recapture my spotlight.

"So, Cate Blanchett," I said conversationally. "Elf Queen? Ukrainian sociopath? Katharine Hepburn?"

"Elf Queen every time," Lisbeth said. "She's much prettier as a blonde."

At least she'd seen _Lord of the Rings_. I'd been tryin' to make jokes in a bunch of fandoms just to figure out what we _did_ have to talk about.

"Not interested," Katie said.

"They're not asking if you're..." Lisbeth sighed. "It's not like that."

"I should hope not," her roommate answered. "I didn't know you were into that sort of thing."

From the yelp of pain she made a second later, I guessed that Lisbeth had kicked her in the shins.

"Personally, I'll take Marion Crane over a communist dominatrix wannabe any day," Leo said. "She's one of those _chicas_ you can take home to _mama_."

We'd first run into the girl of his dreams drinking a sherpa under the table. He had WEIRD taste in women.

"Forget the girls," Katie said. "Please tell me you don't have a thing for Shia LaBeouf."

"He's okay," Lisbeth said. "I could never go for a Danny Zuko type."

"He's not Danny Zuko," Sharsky said while the rest of us were trying to get the reference. "He's..."

"He's Sam's doppelganger," Katie observed.

We all spent a minute contemplating that.

"Sorta," I admitted. "Tweak the hair, give him a whole new wardrobe and I can see it."

"Wonder if Mikaela knows," Leo mused.

Before that could go any further or we could change the subject, there was yet another knock on the door. Leo shot Cam an annoyed look.

"Whadja do, invite everything that breathed?"

"No," Sam said, coming out of his room. "I'm guessing he invited some of those friendly girls who are trying to make him feel welcome and returned the favor. Am I right?"

Cam just looked gleeful and went to answer the door. It wasn't another one of his hotties. It was April.

"NOISE VIOLATIONS," she hissed.

"The movie's over," I protested. "And we're quieter than the guys in 311."

"The guys in 311 aren't on their third door," she pointed out. "I want you to knock off the surround sound."

"Yes'm," Sam said. "Anything else?"

She came in and looked around, obviously in the mood to bust us for _something_.

"Pizza and Coke," I said. "The girls brought a salad."

"And I've got chips!" Sharsky said cheerfully.

"Mind me doing a spot inspection?"

I shrugged permission, wondering what she was looking for. To my knowledge we'd never really had anything in our rooms that was against dorm policy. Spoiled food didn't actually count as hazardous materials, right? And we'd cleared, or rather made Sam clear, all that out before the girls arrived.

She sniffed the Coke, sniffed the pizza, stole a couple of corn chips. "Everything seems to be in order," she grumbled.

"Yup." I smirked. "We're trying to stay on the straight and narrow, just like our favorite RA."

"Thanks," she drawled.

"So we'll let you get back to your date," I said pointedly.

She looked even more annoyed than before. "I'm only five doors down," she informed us. "I can hear EVERYTHING."

"Yes'm."

She left quickly and Lisbeth twisted in her seat to frown at me. "She doesn't _have_ a date. Why do you think she was torturing you?"

"To impress her guy," I guessed. "Anyone dating her would be into the whole torture thing."

"She's been having a quiet enough night to be bothered five doors down," Katie corroborated. "That's not a good sign."

Leo gave an eye roll and grumbled, "If she wants noise violations she should check 318 - there's been nothing but moans since mid-afternoon..."

I ignored Leo. I was starting to like this conversation with the girls. Even if they were kind of slow on the romantic uptake, they were good for translating girl craziness.

"Do you think we should invite her to the Polygadate?" Sharsky suggested.

"NO," the girls said in unison.

We'd gotten to them in under three hours. They'd gone all territorial and possessive and practically clingy and hell, one of them was even taking her clothes off without us asking! Cam's harem aside, this night was made of complete win!


End file.
